


Dawn

by Kedavranox



Series: Dawn Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drarry, Hurt/Comfort, Leatherpants!Draco, M/M, UST, hurt!harry, top!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:30:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedavranox/pseuds/Kedavranox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Aurors tend to assume that someone broke in That Night, and Harry doesn't want to make them think otherwise. He doesn’t want them to know that it wasn’t a break in at all. That it was Harry’s fault... that <i>he</i> let it happen.<br/>Written for the 2013 Draco Tops Harry fest</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Draco Tops Harry fest on LJ. [Original LJ Version here.](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/232432.html)Original notes below:  
> This fic kept growing on me, like mould. I hope reading it is slightly more pleasant. [](http://renleek.livejournal.com/profile)[**renleek**](http://renleek.livejournal.com/) I tried to fit all your likes into this, but I think you'll notice, I did veer greatly from your prompt. I hope you enjoy it anyway. Thank you to [](http://izperplexing.livejournal.com/profile)[**izperplexing**](http://izperplexing.livejournal.com/) and [](http://queenie-mab.livejournal.com/profile)[**queenie_mab**](http://queenie-mab.livejournal.com/), the best cheerleaders in the world, and thank you to [](http://marianna-merlo.livejournal.com/profile)[**marianna_merlo**](http://marianna-merlo.livejournal.com/) the best beta in the world. I would not have finished this fic without any of you. The lovely piece of art featured in this fic was beautifully drawn by [](http://yeaka.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://yeaka.livejournal.com/)**yeaka** , who learned the hard way to never challenge me in a bet. :P
> 
> The piece that Harry is attempting to play is [Dawn, from Pride & Prejudice.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=co1-GiL-pJA&noredirect=1) I'd suggest giving it a listen mainly for _feels._ I like to think of it as the soundtrack to this fic.

_We shall not cease from exploration  
And the end of all our exploring  
Will be to arrive where we started  
And know the place for the first time.  
\--T.S. Eliot_

‘I won’t do it, Ron.’

‘It’s either that, or I put you under house arrest, Harry.’

‘But, I haven’t done anything!’

‘It’s for _your_ protection, you stubborn prick!’

‘I don’t need to be protected.’

‘Fuck that, Harry. This is the third attack...oh, I’m sorry, _incident_ on record. I don’t want to risk you getting seriously hurt next time. Merlin knows how many others “incidents” there are that you’re not telling me. ’

‘I’ve told you everything,’ Harry says.

‘Bullshit. You’re hiding something, and we both know it. I’ve known you too long.’

Harry looks away. ‘This is completely unnecessary,’ he mutters.

‘We’re not talking about this anymore,’ Ron says. ‘You’re going to let us assign you a Hit-Wizard, and that’s final.’

Harry scowls. ‘And I suppose I don’t have any rights to privacy, do I? Just because of who I am? If it were anyone else would they be assigned a highly trained Ministry employee as their personal body guard? Just because of a few failed “attacks”.’

Ron lets out an exasperated sigh. ‘It’s because you’re my best mate, you gormless git. Not because the Ministry still wants something from you!’

‘I don’t fucking need a babysitter,’ Harry says. ‘I can take care of myself.

‘And you’re doing such a bang up job with that, aren’t you,’ Ron says, gesturing vaguely at Harry’s form, bundled under pale blue St Mungo’s bed sheets.

‘You’re overreacting,’ Harry says, judging his friend’s look correctly. ‘Nothing is wrong with me.’

‘Why won’t you just fucking tell me what happened?’

Harry closes his eyes briefly. ‘Nothing happened.’

‘Oh? Is that why your wards were broken? Or why you’re covered in Dark Magic? Because nothing happened?’ Ron pinches the bridge of his nose, and then he rubs his large palms across his face. ‘He’s not a babysitter, Harry; he’s the best fucking Hit Wizard in the department. He’s also the best Cursebreaker we have, _and_ he has a particular affinity for the Dark Arts, and since I can only assume your attackers are using Dark Magic, I think he’s the best option you have.’

Harry’s eyes flick to Ron’s face. ‘Oh Ron, please no. Please tell me you’re not suggesting—’

‘Yes. I’m fucking suggesting it. You’re going to let him protect you, Harry, and you’ll be fucking civil while you’re at it.’

‘But Malf―’

‘I don’t want to hear it. I’m sick to the back of my fucking teeth of this. He’s the absolute best fucking employee we’ve got, and don’t think Kingsley’s too pleased about having to lose him to you.’

‘I didn’t ask him to!’

‘Well I did. And it’s my fucking department, so I’ll do what I want with _my fucking employees._ ’

Harry sighs, looking down at his hands folded in his lap. ‘Does it have to be Malfoy?’ he asks softly.

Ron gives him a look. ‘Oh, please don’t tell me you’re still in a twist about him, Harry. You testified for the git, didn’t you?’

‘I’m not in a twist! I just―’

But Harry would more likely squeeze Bubotuber pus up his arsehole than tell Ron exactly _why_ Draco Malfoy still gets under his skin.

The last time he saw Malfoy, it was at Ron’s swearing in ceremony three years ago. Malfoy was part of the security detail for the Russian Minister for Magic. When Harry saw him, his first frantic thought was _‘when the fuck did Malfoy get so tall?’_. His second thought, which Harry doesn’t like to examine too closely, except perhaps when he’s having a wank, was that Malfoy’s lips were actually quite nice when they weren’t turned upward in a mocking smirk.

Malfoy was even what some people -not Harry of course- would call sexy. What with his ponytail and his wand holster strapped to his thigh, and his Dragonhide boots. Malfoy had grown into his features, his shoulders are much more broad and muscular than Harry remembered . In fact, he’d become so tall, Harry felt completely overshadowed and outmatched. Malfoy’s thighs had filled out too, broadened with muscle that only Hit-Wizard training and years dodging curses could bring. Not even Ron had got so fit with all his training.

And then there was the way Malfoy’s arse filled out the definitely non-Ministry sanctioned (Harry knows because he’d discreetly asked a few days later) leather pants. Harry had been so thoroughly distracted by Malfoy’s mere presence, he’d failed to respond to the Russian president’s rather laborious greeting (not much of a loss really; the man was a swine.) When the President had to repeat himself, it was Malfoy who raised his brow and said with a slow drawl, ‘I think he’s talking to you, Potter.’ Harry had never more felt like disappearing into a hole in the ground.

He’d not seen Malfoy since, and honestly, he’d hoped never to see him again. Unless it involved Malfoy naked. And hard, and ready to press into...he swiftly averted that line of thinking (which, he’s fairly certain, will lead to madness.) The idea of Malfoy being interested in him is just as ludicrous as Severus Snape skating across the frozen lake in a leopard print leotard.

‘Harry. Will you please just let me protect you?’ Ron says. ‘It’s my fucking job.’

It seems ever since Ron joined the Aurors, he’s become largely incapable of forming a sentence without the using words fucking, arse or -his own personal favourite- cunt. The frequency with which he uses these words has increased exponentially since he’s became Head Auror.

Hermione reckons she did a good job turning down his marriage proposal almost eight years ago. Harry agrees they are, both of them, much happier apart. They’re all still single, but Ron and Harry still carry on as though they’ve just turned 20 while Hermione acts more like a woman in her early thirties.

‘Yes,’ Harry says. ‘Yes, fine. It’s going to be a complete waste of time, but, if it makes you feel better.’

Ron scoffs, looking at him with a smile mixed with affection and exasperation. ‘Humour me.’

 

 

:::

Malfoy comes at precisely 4pm, and Harry, feeling unaccountably nervous, opens the door a little too vigorously, almost knocking himself off balance.

Malfoy is on his doorstep in leather pants again, and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the scar of his Dark Mark plainly visible against his pale skin.

‘Potter,’ he says.

‘Malfoy.’ Harry steps aside. ‘Come in, please.’

For the briefest moment, Malfoy looks surprised to be invited in so easily, but then he steps into the entryway and looks around with his hands clasped behind his back.

Malfoy’s left his hair loose today, and Harry’s surprised to find it’s wavier than he thought. It isn’t ramrod straight like his father’s, especially the finer strands about his temples and above his ears that curl into tight little ringlets Harry would love to twirl in his fingers.

‘So, is this a thing you do, Potter?’ Malfoy asks, lips quirking. ‘Gape at your guests in the hallway?’

‘Oh, Jesus, sorry,’ Harry says, feeling his face heat.

But Draco only lifts an eyebrow in response, surveying the foyer with critical eyes. ‘You have no wards here.’

‘Not any more,’ he says. ‘The Aurors tore them down during the...incident.’

Harry fervently hopes Malfoy doesn’t have any questions about That Night, and tries to think of a few ways to deflect if it comes up in conversation.

Malfoy eyes him for a moment and then looks away. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘That’ll be one of the first things we’ll remedy today.’

‘Er. All right.’

Malfoy folds his arms across his chest. ‘Well, Potter. Are you going to show me around?’

Harry curses himself. What is it about Malfoy that makes him act like a complete idiot?

He closes the door behind them. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Of course.’

He’d bought the house maybe three years ago after he’d opened his own broom shop in Diagon Alley. Hermione had insisted it was time for him to invest his Galleons in something more that the money pit that was Grimmauld Place. Try as he might, he could never spruce up the old Black House enough for decent living. It had a sort of _inherent doom_ in its walls, and it wasn’t somewhere Harry found he could happily live. So he’d bought a house in Surrey with Hermione’s help. Over the past three years, he’s really made it a home, and he’s proud of that.

It’s wide and open, and the sunlight hits the walls in every room. It has a Floo, and high end stainless steel kitchen appliances, a state of the art Wizard Wireless and a flat screen bigger than the length of his body. He wonders what Malfoy will make of his strange mix of Muggle and magical, not to mention the speakers he’s had wired throughout the entire house to listen the Quidditch matches on the WWN (and occasionally some Sinatra, but it’s not like he’d ever tell anyone that.)

They move past the entryway into the living/dining room, hemmed in on either side with French-doors that let in all the light- which isn’t much, considering it’s been raining continuously since Monday. Malfoy takes it all in with an impassive expression.

‘Those doors could be a problem,’ he murmurs.

‘Oh?’

He glances briefly at Harry and walks over to the French doors, tracing the edges with his fingertips. Malfoy’s hands are surprisingly androgynous, Harry thinks. His fingers are tapered and graceful as a woman’s, but his palms are large, and the back of his hand are as veiny and broad as any man’s. Malfoy squats down, running his fingers along the edge of the door, stretching the already thin fabric of his shirt across his back.

Harry can’t take his eyes off the man’s body. He can see the curve of Malfoy’s arse through the skin-tight leather fabric stretched to the limit across his cheeks, and it suddenly occurs to him that Malfoy probably does not wear underwear.

Malfoy looks up at him and Harry starts guiltily.

‘I should be able to make it work,’ Malfoy says. ‘But you really shouldn’t have exposed yourself this much. Wards are harder to maintain over so much glass.’

‘I thought you were the best at protection charms.’

Draco lifts an eyebrow and stands, dusting his hands on his thighs. ‘I am.’

‘Well then,’ Harry says stupidly.

Malfoy ignores him, looking about the house with quick, darting eyes.

‘It’s very open,’ he says distractedly. His eyes fall on the showcase with all of Harry’s broom prototypes from over the years.

He moves closer to it, hands clasped behind his back. ‘You know,’ he says, eyeing the miniature brooms hovering behind the glass. ‘I was surprised you didn’t join the Aurors. Everyone expected you to.’

Harry raises his brows, surprised at Draco’s unexpected attempt at conversation.

‘I thought about it,’ he says. ‘But I decided a lifetime of chasing Dark Wizards was something I could do without.’

‘Hmm,’ Draco says, rubbing his bottom lip with the tip of his index finger. He makes an abortive gesture for his shirt pocket and then frowns.

‘Show me the bedrooms,’ he says.

Harry doesn’t want to examine the thrill in his stomach at Malfoy’s commanding tone.

He leads the way up the stairs, desperately wishing he could take a peek to check if Malfoy’s appreciating his arse.

He stops on the landing. ‘This one is mine,’ he says, gesturing to the room on his right.

Malfoy moves past him and enters Harry’s room, looking around with clinical eyes. It’s all dark browns and Slytherin greens, a fact he notes Malfoy seems to take in without interest. His four-poster king bed is flanked on either side by night tables. His oversized chest of drawers sits on the opposite wall, facing the bed. In the corner of the room, he keeps a single reclining chair that sits next to a small, round antique table. The novel he’s been reading lies face-down next to his wand.

Malfoy lets out a small sound of annoyance and crosses the room. He picks up the wand and holds it out to Harry.

‘On you at all times, understand?’

Harry nods and swallows, sticking the wand into his jeans pocket. It’s no small feat; his jeans are snug.

‘Potter,’ Draco says in an aggrieved tone. ‘Remind me to get you a wand-holster.’

‘Right.’

Draco eyes the entrance to Harry’s bathroom, but doesn’t enter.

When he’s finished, he walks past Harry out to the landing and squats again, examining the door frame with his fingers.

‘The Aurors say this room was drenched in Dark Magic,’ he says. ‘Took them days to clean it.’

Harry feels his heartbeat begin to race, and he avoids Malfoy’s eyes.

Malfoy’s mouth twitches. ‘I can’t trace it,’ he says. Then he looks up at Harry. ‘And I’m guessing you’re not going to tell me where it came from.’

Harry swallows thickly, but he doesn’t say anything.

Malfoy simply nods. ‘I thought so. Weasley told me you were hiding something.’

Harry feels a hot coil of anger lash out deep in his belly. Goddamn Ron and his persistent need to nose in on Harry’s life. Can’t he have any privacy?

‘I’m not hiding anything,’ Harry says.

It doesn’t matter that he’s lying. It’s the principle of the thing. If Harry didn’t want to talk about things, then it was his right not to, wasn’t it? The Aurors tend to assume that someone broke in That Night, and Harry doesn’t want to make them think otherwise. He doesn’t want them to know that it wasn’t a break in at all. That it was Harry’s fault...the _he_ let it happen.

Harry swallows thickly and digs his nails into his palms, trying not to think about anything that happened That Night.

Draco just eyes him for a long moment, his grey eyes dark and intense, and he looks away. ‘What’s over there?’ he says, gesturing to the other side of the landing.

‘That’s the bathroom,’ Harry says. ‘And your room, I guess.’

Draco looks up at the ceiling and reaches up for the handle to the attic door. Harry takes no pleasure in the fact that Malfoy can do this without the small step up ladder Harry has to use every time.

‘The attic?’ Draco asks.

‘Yes. I use it to relax.’

‘Relax?’

‘Meditate.’

Draco gives him a look and then he climbs the ladder steps until only the lower half of his body is visible. He looks down at Harry from on top the ladder, his blond hair falling around his face. ‘Mallowsweet?’

‘It’s a perfectly acceptable relaxation herb,’ Harry says.

Malfoy rolls his eyes and smirks. ‘So you get stoned from time to time, alone, in your attic. Charming, Potter.’

‘Oh, get down from there.’

Draco jumps off the ladder and lands with a graceful lunge. Harry doesn’t look when Malfoy’s shirt flies upward, exposing his pale, surprisingly defined stomach -no, he doesn’t look at all.

Malfoy runs his hands through his hair, pushing it away from his face, and he peers into the guest bedroom that will be his.

‘Thank you for the tour, Potter,’ he says, stepping away from Harry and into the bedroom. ‘We’ll work on the wards later today.’

And with that, he closes the door in Harry’s face.

 

 

:::

Harry occupies himself with watching the telly for the next few hours, muting the volume ever so often so he can hear what Malfoy is up to. When Malfoy doesn’t come down at dinner, Harry sighs and trudges up the stairs to ask him if he’s interested in leftovers.

For a bodyguard, he seems completely uninterested in his charge, Harry thinks bitterly as he walks up the stairs.

He knocks on the door three times and waits.

‘What?’ Malfoy calls from inside.

Harry folds his arms across his chest. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’

Malfoy opens the door. He’s pulled back his hair and changed into sweatpants and a white v-neck cotton tee. Harry’s never seen him dressed quite so... casually.

He finds himself distracted by the thinness of Malfoy’s shirt and the expanse of the man’s chest. Harry’s no lug, but he could probably work out for years and not look like that. Harry wonders if some discreet charm is at work here.

‘What do you have?’ Malfoy says, folding his arms and leaning against the door frame.

Harry forces himself to look Malfoy in the eye, and he’s disconcerted to find that Malfoy is almost smiling.

‘Oh, um, there’s stew and some curry, I think. Roti from the West Indian shop.’

‘I don’t eat meat, Potter.’

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Well we can always order something.’

Draco gives him a look. ‘Lead the way then.’

Harry feels strangely vulnerable leading Malfoy down the stairs, and he’s absolutely certain Malfoy’s checking out his arse this time. There’s something about that damned half smile that’s always on his lips.

 

 

:::

Malfoy looks around Harry’s kitchen with a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

Harry folds his arms across his chest. ‘So, do you want to order Muggle food? Or..?’

Malfoy glances at the kitchen window. ‘Don’t you have an owl?’

‘I do,’ Harry says. ‘But she’s hunting at the moment. What, isn’t Muggle food good enough for a Malfoy?’

‘Don’t be an idiot, Potter,’ Malfoy says. ‘What are the options around here?’

‘We could do Chinese,’ Harry says. ‘I’m sure you can omit the meat in whatever you order.’

Malfoy shrugs. ‘Whatever you like, Potter.’

Harry pulls out his mobile and calls the take-out restaurant he usually frequents on Monday nights, watching as Malfoy explores the kitchen further. Malfoy looks around the room with his hands behind his back, as though he’s barely restraining himself from touching anything. When he spots a picture of Teddy on the fridge, he almost reaches out, but then, perhaps thinking better of it, he doesn’t. He makes another abortive gesture for his front pocket and then, looking dismayed, he begins to pace the room.

Harry tells the man on the phone that, yes he would like meatless Pad Thai; no he isn’t allergic to meat; yes he trusted their meat was good; would they just give him the fucking pad Thai please; oh, and some beef pot stickers, too?  
By the time Harry’s off the phone, Malfoy’s wandered off to the living room, and Harry catches him eyeing his Steinway concert grand. When he sees Harry staring, he stuffs his hands into his pockets almost defensively and raises a pale brow.

‘You play?’ he asks.

Harry nods. ‘I started after the war. It was a good way to distract myself from... other things.’

Draco gives him a long look, and he nods to the piano. ‘Are you any good?’

Harry smiles. ‘Perhaps.’

Draco reaches in his pocket again and makes a soft sound of annoyance under his breath.

‘Do you smoke?’ Harry asks.

Malfoy stiffens. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because that’s the third time you’ve reached for a fag. I have some somewhere if you like. You’d just have to smoke in the back. I hate the smell it leaves behind.’

Malfoy stuffs his fingers into his front pockets, and rocks back on his heels in a strangely vulnerable sort of way. ‘I’m, ah, actually trying to quit at the moment,’ he says.

‘Oh. Right then.’

They stare awkwardly at each other, and then Malfoy clears his throat.

‘I should get started on the wards,’ he says.

‘After we eat.’

‘Fine then.’ Malfoy scowls and sits on the sofa behind him, draping his arms across the length of the seat and crossing his ankles.

Harry sits in the loveseat across from him, shifting awkwardly and trying his best not to feel intimidated by the man sitting across him with his threadbare tee and sweatpants and delicate wrists.

‘Tell me about the attacks,’ Malfoy says.

‘Incidents,’ Harry says automatically.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. ‘Right. Tell me about the incidents.’

‘I’m sure you already know every detail.’

‘I do,’ Malfoy says. ‘But I want to hear it from you. The first is when you were coming home from a club in London, am I right?’

Harry considers his answer carefully. ‘Yes.’

‘And..?’

‘And, you already know what happened.’

Draco bites his bottom lip hard, giving Harry a hard look of exaggerated patience. ‘Why don’t you walk me through it?’

Harry sighs, looking down at his lap. ‘I was leaving the club. There was a man. He was waiting for me outside. I’d seen him before inside,’ Harry hesitates. ‘I thought he was making a pass at me.’

Harry glances up, but Malfoy’s face remains as blank as ever.

‘I went over to talk to him, and we were just talking for a few minutes. And then I pulled him into an alley way.’

‘Why?’ Malfoy asks. ‘Did he suggest it?’

 _Oh Christ._ ‘No,’ Harry says, feeling his face heat. ‘I was... I was going to suck him off, all right?’

Harry looks up, expecting to Malfoy to at least look shocked, but he only nods and gestures for Harry to go on. ‘I was on my knees in front of him, and he stuck his wand at my throat.’ Harry swallows thickly, looking anywhere but at Malfoy.

‘What happened next?’

‘Oh, you know what happened next, Malfoy!’ Harry says, exasperated. ‘He threatened me. He told me if I kept fucking around with Muggles, he’d kill me.’

‘Did he call you by name?’

‘Yes.’

‘First or last?’

Harry shifts in his seat, not liking the way the conversation is making him feel: exposed and completely vulnerable.

‘He called me Harry,’ he says. ‘As if I knew him. As though we were friends.’

‘What else did he tell you?’

Harry looks away, choosing to settle his gaze on the piano it took six men to move into his house.

‘There’s nothing else,’ he says softly.

Malfoy makes a soft sound of annoyance at the back of his throat.

‘Potter, I know you,’ he says, looking Harry straight in the eye. ‘You would fight back unless you were seriously incapacitated. Stop fucking around and tell me what really happened.’

Harry stubbornly meets his gaze. ‘Nothing else happened,’ he says. ‘I got away. I was fine. I only reported it because Hermione convinced me to. I see now that it was unnecessary.’

Malfoy sits up. ‘Nothing else happened, did it?’ he says in a low voice. ‘What, like nothing happened in your room upstairs? Is that why it reeks of Dark Magic?’

Harry clenches his hands into fists. ‘Why am I being interrogated?’

‘Because I need to know everything if I’m to protect you, Potter.’

‘Why do you care?’

Draco gives him and impassive look. ‘I don’t. I’m just doing my fucking job.’

Harry ties to ignore the twinge of disappointment ringing in his chest. Of course it was stupid to think Malfoy actually cared. They barely knew each other anymore.

Not that they ever did.

Malfoy sighs. ‘Did he curse you, Potter?’

Harry lifts his chin. ‘Yes.’

‘Why wasn’t this in the report?’

‘Because I didn’t say anything,’

‘What did he use?’

‘What does it matter?’

Malfoy gives him a long, hard look.

Harry capitulates. ‘It was the Cruciatus Curse, all right?’

Malfoy makes a sound between his teeth and stands up with a jolt.

‘A wizard used an Unforgivable curse against you _in public_ and you don’t tell the Aurors.’

‘I didn’t want to make a scene.’

‘A scene! Potter, if he’s using an Unforgivable Curse, then he’s using an unregistered wand. Which means he’s fucking serious about hurting you.’

‘He’s not serious. He’s just some kind of pathetic stalker who’s trying to scare me out of living my life. I won’t let him.’

‘So, what? You’ll let him kill you, is that it?’

‘Oh, give me a break, Malfoy.’

Malfoy opens his mouth to retort, but then the doorbell rings, and they both look at the door.

‘That’ll be the food,’ Harry says, relieved.

Harry stands up to move past Malfoy, but he pulls Harry back with a hard grip on his shoulder.

‘From now on,’ Malfoy says. ‘I answer the door.’

He pulls his wand from his holster, a black strappy leather thing wrapped around his thigh, and stalks to the door.

Just before he opens it though, Harry grabs his arm. ‘Malfoy you can’t answer the door with that thing pointed in his face,’ he says, annoyed. ‘He’s a Muggle.’

Malfoy narrows his eyes. ‘Then he’ll just think I’m a nutter with a stick,’ he says. ‘Step away from the door, Potter, and let me do my job.’

Harry rolls his eyes and stands back while Draco opens the door pointing his wand at the tall Asian teen who usually delivers Harry’s food.

He eyes Draco warily, and Draco eyes him back, probably casting a dozen invasive spells on the poor boy. After a minute, Malfoy relaxes and steps aside.

The kid -Harry can’t ever remember his name- relaxes, too, as though he realises he’s passed some sort of test. Harry smiles reassuringly at him, and he smiles back, although he still darts a few nervous glances at Malfoy. ‘Mr. Potter, hi.’

‘Don’t mind, him,’ Harry says, gesturing to Malfoy. ‘He’s just been let out of Bedlam.’

They laugh at the joke that Malfoy obviously misses, and Harry pays for and collects their food. He closes the door and pushes past Malfoy, who follows behind him without a word.

Harry drops the brown paper bag onto the kitchen island and sits down on the bar stool. He pulls out both boxes and hands Malfoy his with his chopsticks and then settles in to eat.

‘You didn’t lock the door behind you,’ Malfoy says, eyeing the chopsticks warily.

‘No,’ Harry says. ‘I didn’t.’

Harry SFummons a fork from a drawer, and it lands next to Malfoy with a _thwack_. Malfoy watches Harry for a moment and, seeming to decide another argument isn’t worth it, picks up the fork and opens his box of noodles.

They eat in relative silence, until Draco declares it’s time to start working on the wards whether Harry is ready or not.

 

 

:::

In the morning, Harry tries his best not to react to the sight of a half-naked Draco Malfoy slipping quickly into the hallway bath. As it is, he can’t help but notice Malfoy has a tattoo on his right shoulder, and while, without his glasses, Harry can’t quite figure out what it is, its mere presence is enough to spark an unhealthy interest in Malfoy’s bare skin.

Malfoy comes to breakfast fully dressed in his leather pants, Dragonhide boots, a dark grey shirt and black robes. Harry almost chokes on his toast.

‘Breakfast?’ he asks.

‘I don’t eat in the mornings.’ Malfoy says, eyeing the mound of bacon, eggs, bangers and mash on Harry’s plate with distaste. ‘We need to go over your schedule.’

‘I gave it to Ron.’

‘Yes, and he shared it with me,’ Malfoy says with a slow drawl, as if speaking to someone who is particularly dim. ‘We need to adjust some things.’

‘Adjust?’ Harry says around a mouthful of toast.

‘Thursday nights, Friday nights. Shadow Lounge, is it?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Well. Can’t you pick just one night?’

‘No. That’s time for me and my mates. We always go on those nights.’

‘And the Coach and Horses every Tuesday night?’

‘That’s for me and Hermione; we never stay long.’

‘How is it you’re a successful business owner?’

Harry scowls. ‘I manage just fine, thanks.’

Malfoy releases a long suffering sigh. ‘Well, I’m going to have to be with you in the club and at the pub.’

‘With me? Can’t you just, I don’t know...wait outside?’

‘No, I can’t, Potter.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

Malfoy shrugs. ‘There’s nothing for it,’ he says. ‘And I believe you’ll be late for work in five minutes.’

Harry drops his toast. ‘Fuck.’

 

 

:::

When he arrives at the shop, Lee is already waiting for him outside, holding two cups of coffee and eyeing Malfoy with a half smile on his face. Harry scowls, grabs the coffee cup and dismantles the wards with his wand. As Harry expected, Lee finds it hilarious that Harry’s been assigned a babysitter. He’d laughed off Harry’s rage when he stormed into the shop on Saturday, ranting about Malfoy.

He only comes in twice a week, on loan from George. Harry doesn’t actually _sell_ brooms in his shop; he supplies them to Quidditch teams and the Quality Quidditch supply store just down the street. Harry mostly spends the day alone in his workshop, stripping and carving down the wood and working on charm placements. Every now and then, he does a special order for very select customers, or beginner’s racing booms, but not often. His brooms are already in high enough demand at QQ that he just can’t take on any more without an assistant, and he doesn’t want that. He wants all Phoenix brooms to be made by his own hands.

Draco follows close behind them into his shop and wanders off idly when Harry and Lee start discussing what’s on the agenda for today. They’re expecting a new delivery of birch twigs and cedar for inspection. Everything else is in order; since he spent a few late hours at the shop on Saturday to get things done (also to brood on his new situation in peace).

Lee looks over to Malfoy, who has his back turned to them, inspecting the brooms on the shelves, and then back at Harry, eyes dancing with amusement.

‘Don’t start,’ Harry says.

Lee raises his hands in mock surrender. ‘I didn’t say anything, mate.’

‘Yes, well, keep it that way.’

Lee only laughs, retreating to his corner of the shop where he handles most of the paper work and business.

Harry watches Malfoy from behind the counter as he looks around the shop curiously, glancing at the stacks of order papers and the odd scraps of wood. The walls are dark, aged castle brick and lined with wooden shelves of all his prototypes. The back wall, at Lee’s insistence, contains plaques from his best selling brooms and autographed pictures by Quidditch players and teams who swear by his work. The corners of the shop are stocked with logs of wood for the fireplace. Harry loves his shop. It’s warm and homey, with antique rugs on the floor and low wooden beams that Malfoy’s head comes dangerously close to brushing more than once.

Malfoy catches his eyes and nods to the doorway. ‘Standard anti-theft wards?’

Harry nods absently. Lily, his tawny, is tapping on the glass with his morning post. Harry opens the door and stretches his arm for her to land.

She nips his fingers affectionately and he takes his post. The usual delivery of the _Daily Prophet_ is there, some special order forms from the printers, his monthly bank statement from Gringotts. He tosses everything into the pile for Lee to sort through later, except for one. At the bottom of the pile is a black envelope with a red seal. He turns it over in his hands and rips it open without much thought. When he reads it, the blood drains from his face.

Malfoy, previously distracted by his inspection of Harry’s wards, turns to him and frowns.

‘Potter? What is it?’

Harry tries to stuff the envelope in his jeans pocket, but Malfoy is too fast.

He stalks over to Harry and wordlessly puts out his hand.

‘It’s personal, Malfoy,’ he says, his voice just barely above a whisper.

‘Personal? Is that why you look like someone just died?’

Without a word, the letter floats into Malfoy’s hand, but when it touches his skin, it slowly blackens and burns without a flame, disintegrating into ash in the palm of his hand.

Malfoy looks up, eyes wide. A strand of his hair falls across his face.

‘What the fuck was that, Potter?’

But Harry doesn’t answer. He stares transfixed at the ash marks left in Draco’s palm.

Draco’s forehead furrows with concern. ‘All right there?’ he asks.

Harry shakes his head.

‘Was it a threat?’

Harry looks at him as if only just noticing his presence. ‘No,’ he says. ‘It was nothing.’  
‘Come on,’ Harry says. ‘I’d better take you down to the work-room.’

Malfoy watches him for a moment and steps back. ‘All right.’

Harry takes him to the back of the shop, down the stone steps and into the cellar that’s been his workroom for the past three years. It’s littered with sawdust. Long, wooden shelves line each wall of the room. Every corner has a few stacks of wood in haphazard piles. A work bench sits in the middle, and another is pushed up against the wall. Perched on one of the shelves is a blackboard with a few charm equations and calibrations written in Harry’s messy scrawl.

Harry pulls off his sweater and tosses it onto his work bench next to his carving tools and gestures awkwardly.

‘So, this is where I am most of the day,’ he says. ‘That door there leads to the back garden. I like to go out there when I need a break. Sometimes Hermione and I have lunch there. She works just down the street.’

He glances at Malfoy, who’s watching him with a piercing gaze. ‘There’s a loo over there,’ he says, pointing to the door in the corner of the shop. ‘It’s small, and probably not what you’re used to, but it works for me.’

‘Potter.’

‘There are a lot of wards down here, actually,’ Harry continues. ‘Workmanship stuff, really. Anti-explosion, stuff like that.’

‘Potter, stop.’

Harry’s mouth snaps shut.

‘What was in the letter?’

‘Oh that,’ Harry says, scratching his neck. ‘I think I overreacted. It’s not that big of a deal, actually.’

‘Potter. That spell was Dark Magic,’ Malfoy says. ‘Tell me what it said.’

‘It was just a few words,’ Harry says. Malfoy raises his brow expectantly. ‘“See you tonight, Harry,” That’s all. Nothing really to worry about. It could be anyone’

Malfoy watches him. Harry tries to ignore the way it makes him feel. Vulnerable and scared, the way he felt when—

But he doesn’t like to think about that.

‘Is that all?’ Malfoy asks, crossing his arms.

Harry nods. ‘Yes. I know I overreacted.’

‘You’re not going tonight, Potter.’

Harry bristles. ‘The hell I’m not.’

Malfoy watches him. ‘Did you recognise the handwriting? Anything?’

Harry shakes his head. ‘Malfoy, it’s not a big deal, really. He’s just trying to scare me.’

‘You keep saying he. You keep implying that it’s the same person, yet each time he had a different description.’

Harry avoids Malfoy’s gaze. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I think it’s the same person.’

Malfoy catches his eye and lifts his brow expectantly.

‘Polyjuice,’ Harry says.

Malfoy gives him a dark look, his eyes full of suspicion.

‘You know a lot more than you’re leading us to believe, Potter.’

Harry says nothing.

Malfoy sits down at the smaller worktable and folds his arms. ‘I’ll get it out of you eventually.’

Harry turns away from him, wiping his hands on his jeans. He Summons the prototype he’s been playing with for the last few days and starts tinkering with it, flipping it over in his hands and listening to the vibration of charms inside. He doesn’t know why, but the stability charm keeps getting knocked out of alignment. At first he thought it was because of the pliability of the bamboo, but now he’s not so sure. He could have layered his charms too thick, he supposes. He glances up at the chalkboard behind Malfoy’s head, and Malfoy looks away from him quickly, a faint tinge on his cheeks.

Harry clears his throat and looks back down at the prototype again. He strokes the length of the wood with his palm again, closing his eyes. If he can just pull one small layer of charms from the web work, maybe the stability charms would latch and stay true.

It’s not easy. A lesser broomswright would have had to strip the broom and start the charms fresh, but Harry simply gathers all his energy and imagines the touch of his magic as a fine point like a needle. The charms are like small, thin sticks where he must lift one without touching the others.

He lifts a shred of the charm and deposits it in a scrap of wood he keeps for that purpose. Immediately, the vibrations of the broom settle, and the charms begin to flow in a ceaseless circle, radiating the gentle hum of power a racing broom should. He can’t help the small crow of triumph that escapes his lips as he steps back, admiring his work.

He looks up and finds Draco eyeing him with a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

‘I just balanced it,’ Harry says by way of explanation.

Draco doesn’t say anything, but he looks at the broom expectantly, and Harry places it on the floor and holds his palm out.

‘Up!’

The tail end up the broom snaps up and smacks him hard in the face, knocking him a few steps backwards.

‘Fuck!’

He holds his nose, watching through his fingers and Malfoy’s mouth twitches and his eyes dance in amusement.

‘Shut up, you wanker,’ Harry moans, his nose burning. From the feel of the warm liquid running down his nose, he’s bleeding, too.

Malfoy walks over to him, palms forward in surrender. ‘Let me look at it,’ he says.

Harry drops his hands from his face, barely suppressing the urge to stamp his foot.

Malfoy puts his fingers on either side of Harry’s face, forcing him to keep still. This close, Harry can see the small scar on Malfoy’s upper lip, beneath the barest hint of white-blond stubble. His eyes are such a light grey, bright, with flecks of amber close to his iris. His lashes are long and straight and darker than Harry thought they would be.

‘ _Episky_ ,’ Draco says softly.

The pain in his nose ebbs, and Harry feels his dignity start to return full-force. Malfoy casts a cleaning charm to remove the blood and Harry steps back, gingerly touching his face.

‘Thanks, Malfoy.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Malfoy clears his throat and steps away from him. ‘Looks like you didn’t fix the broom after all.’

Harry scowls, looking down at the tan-coloured prototype laying innocently on the floor.

‘No, it’s just a right piece of work,’ he says. ‘Don’t worry; I’ll have it in order soon. If not, I’m sure I could use a little more kindling wood.’

The broom shudders.

Draco steps back, looking alarmed.

‘All broomsticks have their own personality, Malfoy. I thought you knew that by now,’ Harry says, smiling. He wipes his palms on his jeans and bends over to pick up the broom.

‘There’s a coffee shop not far from here,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to watch me all day, and I’m certain you’re starving by now.’

Malfoy cross his arms over his chest and leans against the wall, watching as Harry tidies up his workspace, making room in a dusty corner for the new shipment of wood coming in today.

‘Where is it?’ he asks.

Harry looks up from his task, surprised. He’d expected Malfoy to insist on staying at his side all day. He feels silly for it, but he’s a little...disappointed.

‘It’s a bit hidden, but it’s just next to Hermione’s office, opposite Fortescue’s. It’s small, but the coffee is good, and they’re not easily starstruck, so you’ll be fine.’

Malfoy raises his eyebrows at that, and he pushes himself off the wall. He grabs his robes from the workbench and pulls it on gracefully.

‘I think you’ll be fine for half an hour,’ he says, pushing his hands into fingerless leather gloves.

Harry swallows. ‘Of course.’

Malfoy nods and turns to leave.

The prototype on the shelf twitches.

Harry scowls at it. ‘Shut up.’

 

 

:::

 

 

When they get home late at night, Harry is exhausted. The new shipment of wood needed to be treated, dried and tested for knots and decay before being primed for shaping the following day.   
  
The muscles in his back ache, and he rubs his shoulders absently while roaming about the kitchen in search for food. Malfoy disappeared into his room as soon as they arrived, and Harry’s glad to be left alone even if for a short while.  
  
Malfoy spent the rest of the evening setting wards on his shop that, apart from being utterly restrictive in some cases -he now has to lower Apparition wards  _every time_  he receives a delivery- they’re downright paranoid in others. Harry grabs leftover Chinese and settles down on the stool in front of his kitchen island, absently reheating it with a warming charm.  
  
Malfoy seems largely unaffected by Harry, while Harry finds himself constantly distracted by Malfoy’s nonchalant tying and retying of his hair. Or the way Malfoy likes to trace the shape of his lips with his index finger when he’s concentrating. Or the way Malfoy’s thighs fill out his stupid sodding leather pants. Harry sighs and drops his fork on to the marble countertop.  
  
These next few weeks are going to drive him absolutely mad.   
  
He stands and tosses the empty cardboard box into the bin. No use asking Malfoy if he wanted anything to eat. The prat spent most of the evening eating sweet and sour tofu balls and kale crisps with delicate fingertips, licking the sauce from the corners of his mouth. Harry had to excuse himself twice to adjust himself in the small bathroom of his workshop.  
  
He heads up the stairs and closes the door to his bedroom, deciding to enjoy a nice bath before he has to leave to meet Hermione. Malfoy had tried once more to convince Harry not to go, but Harry gave him such a look that Malfoy had to lock his jaw to keep from retaliating. Harry refuses to let anyone scare him into hiding. Not again. He meets Hermione every Tuesday for drinks, and it’ll remain that way.  
  
Harry toes out of his trainers, pulls off his T-shirt, and tosses it into the corner of the room, rolling his shoulders around a few times. God, he’s stiff. It’s the same every time a new shipment comes in. He walks into his bathroom and rummages through the medicine cabinet for the muscle relaxant potion to add to his bath. He sets it down at the edge of the sink along with his glasses and pulls off his jeans, tossing them haphazardly. He pulls aside the curtain of his claw foot tub and turns the faucet, testing the water for a moment before allowing it to fill.  
  
He looks around for his wand for a minute before realising with a jolt that he’s left it in the kitchen. If Malfoy see it there, he’ll kill him. Three times today did he pull Harry aside and hand him back his wand, scowl fixed firmly on his face, after Harry left it in the bathroom, in the grass in the back garden, and again in the pile of birch twigs he was sorting.  
  
Harry sighs and pulls off his underwear, dropping it the floor. He reaches for the potion and dunks half the contents into his bath. The room is instantly filled with the scent of eucalyptus. Harry takes a deep breath and stretches to turn off the faucet. When he sinks down into the water, he can’t help the groan that escapes his lips. It feels like as though tiny massage therapists are working on every inch of his body. He sinks under the water, holding his breath and listening to the silence. When he comes up, all he can think about is Malfoy.  
  
It’s stupid. And completely lust driven. There’s nothing about the git’s personality that’s appealing. Especially not the way he seems to think of Harry as strictly a commodity to protect. Nothing in their conversation today passed any sort of formal concern. Malfoy is strictly business, and he’s driving Harry insane.   
  
Harry uses one of his few wandless charms and Summons the scented bubble bath he never really uses except for when he’s trying to pull. He dumps about a quarter capful into the tub and swishes it about, making bubbles as he goes. He starts massaging his skin, and he’s not surprised to find his cock is achingly hard. He strokes himself absently, allowing his mind to fill with faceless hard bodies. He thinks of his last time out in the pub, where he was approached more than once. Where he was actually wanted. Sod Malfoy.  
  
He starts stroking a little faster now, rubbing the head of his cock with the pad of his thumb.  
  
Fuck.  _Malfoy._  
  
Who the fuck wears leather trousers on the job anyway? And what’s the story behind those fingerless gloves? Does Malfoy have some sort of bondage kink? The thought brings him up short. It brings back memories of That Night, and Harry doesn’t want to put off a desperately needed wank. Feeling himself go a little soft at with the memories, he spurs into action, fisting his cock and thinking of nothing else but Malfoy naked and hard. His long, tapered fingers ghosting along Harry’s skin. Malfoy’s cock in his mouth. Harry’s sure Malfoy is hung. No one could be be that much of a git with a small prick between his legs. No, Malfoy’s probably hung and thick, with nice balls that Harry could choke on if he wanted to.   
  
He reaches between his legs with his free hand and starts teasing the tight ring of muscle around his hole with his finger, stroking his cock at the same time. The only sounds are of his heavy breathing and water sloshing against the edges of the tub. He drops his head back, slipping his finger just barely inside his hole, and pushing back his foreskin, teasing the sensitive underside of his cock with his fingers. His orgasm bears down on him, hard and unexpected, and he snaps his hips upward, his cock breaching the surface of the water. His come shoots straight up and out of the water; landing with a few soft _plinks._  
  
As he spirals down, still stroking his cock absently, he spares a small thought for the insanity of jerking off to Draco fucking Malfoy in his tub. He pulls the stopper and drains the tub, turning on the shower and rinsing himself off again, this time taking time to wash his hair. When he steps out, he peers at his face in the mirror . He looks sated, eyes bright. He dries his hair with his towel, and it flops across his forehead in an angry, defiant sort of way. He likes this haircut Hermione convinced him to try; the first haircut his hair has taken to without growing back with a vengeance. His dark hair is cut close on the sides and longer on the top and back, but it’s been awhile since he’s had it cut, so it’s started to curl around over his ear.   
  
He grabs his glasses from the side of the sink, stylish dark-brown square glasses he bought from off a website he’d stumbled upon on the Internet. He needs to shave again, but he’s not really in the mood, so he decided not to, even though he knows he might regret it in the morning. He towels himself off and drops it on the floor, walking naked into his room. He opens the middle drawer and considers the contents, worrying his lip between his teeth. He wants to make an effort tonight, and he absolutely doesn’t want to consider the reasons why.  
  
He pulls out a black, button-down shirt that Hermione swears makes his eyes glow, and his whitewash jeans. They’re as old as Dumbledore, and they fit close enough, hugging his arse in a way he likes. Sod underwear. If Malfoy doesn’t wear it, why should he? He dresses, slaps on some deodorant and cologne —some sort of scent Hermione gave him, which Ron insists smells like dirt. Hermione insists smells woodsy...yet another squabble he had to put an end to.   
  
He heads down the stairs and stops short at the sight of Malfoy running the tips of his fingers over the ivory keys of his piano. He’s showered and changed, dressed like a Muggle in a dark green shirt and black jeans, the same Dragonhide boots on his feet. He’s wearing his hair down tonight, still damp from his shower.  
  
He looks up when Harry walks in and pulls his hand away from the piano.  
  
‘If you like,’ Harry says, rolling up his sleeves, ‘I can teach you something.’  
  
Malfoy’s mouth twitches. ‘I doubt you could.’  
  
Harry hurries over to the island in the kitchen, thinking he could maybe find his wand quickly and save himself from Malfoy’s wrath, but it’s no longer there. He moves about the kitchen in a panic, looking behind the toaster and in the fridge, but he can’t find it. When he looks across the room, Malfoy is watching him with one pale brow raised, twirling Harry’s holly wand in his fingers.  
  
‘Looking for this?’  
  
Harry’s stomach drops. ‘Hand it over, Malfoy.’  
  
Moving quicker than Harry thought possible, Malfoy pushes him back hard against the fridge, using his superior height and pressing his forearm up against Harry’s throat.  
  
‘How will you defend yourself now, Potter?’  
  
Harry tries to push him off, but Malfoy simply pushes back and shoves Harry’s back into the fridge again.  
  
‘Shove off, Malfoy!’  
  
Malfoy shoves Harry in the chest again, his breath puffing against Harry’s cheeks. He can’t take his eyes off Malfoy’s lips. They’re red and flushed. His cupid’s bow is a pale line that Harry wants to taste with his tongue. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.  
  
‘How many times do I have to tell you, Potter?’  
  
Harry pants, pushing against Malfoy again. ‘Just give me the fucking wand, you git.’  
  
Malfoy shakes his head and pushes off him, pressing his palm flat against Harry’s chest, preventing Harry from lifting himself up off the fridge door.  
  
‘It’s as if you don’t care, Potter,’ he says, watching him with narrowed eyes. They stare at eachother for a moment, and Harry’s breath quickens. Malfoy’s gaze drops to Harry’s lips and then at his own fingers splayed against Harry’s chest. He drops his hand and steps away, wordlessly handing Harry his wand and not meeting his eyes.   
  
Harry moves to stuff it into his jeans, and Malfoy tuts.  
  
He reaches into his back pocket and hands Harry a leather wand holster. ‘Use it, Potter.’  
  
Harry rolls his eyes and grabs the holster, trying to ignore the flutter of unease in his stomach. The black leather straps look painfully familiar, and his heart thuds as he turns it over in his hands.  
  
Malfoy’s watching him curiously, and Harry takes a deep breath and throws his discomfort to the back of his mind, the same place where he keeps all the other Bad Things, and affixes the holster to his thigh, dropping his wand into the slot.  
  
‘It’s warded to you,’ Malfoy says. ‘And there’s a Glamour on there as well if you’re worried about Muggles.’  
  
‘To activate the wards, you need to have an activation charm. Non-verbal of course. When you place your fingers on your wand, think of your activation word, and it will release from the holster. Got it?’  
  
Harry nods.  
  
He puts his hand over the length of his wand and thinks ‘this is fucked’ before choosing his activation word. ‘Hedwig’, but when he pulls at his wand, it won’t budge.  
  
‘What the fuck, Malfoy.’  
  
Malfoy frowns. ‘It should work. What word did you pick?’  
  
‘Like I’d tell you.’  
  
‘Potter. It would be the first thing you thought of when you held the wand.’  
  
Harry groans. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’  
  
He thinks the words ‘this is fucked,’ and the wand slips free.  
  
‘Is there any way to reset this?’  
  
Malfoy shakes his head. ‘No. But it works, that’s good.’ He looks at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s after seven. Granger will be waiting.’  
  
Harry scowls when Draco holds out his arm for Harry to grab on to -another rule, no Apparating or Disapparating without him-but his annoyance is quickly forgotten when the swirl of their Disapparition lifts Malfoy’s scent, a heady mix of sandalwood and frankincense, to his nose.   


 

:::

  
  
  
Hermione is already there, and the pub is packed with what feels like the entire after-work crowd of Muggle London. All the flatscreen TV’s are playing the same football match, and Harry chances a glance to check the score. The Hotspurs haven’t a prayer. Harry cringes and looks away, moving through the thick crowd to his and Hermione’s usual spot: a booth close to the bar. Malfoy follows behind him, cursing under his breath at the complete lack of basic security in the pub. Hermione raises her hand as she spots him, and she looks at Draco with polite interest when they reach her. Harry’s relieved to see she’s already ordered a pitcher of ale.  
  
‘Hermione,’ Harry says, kissing her cheek. ‘No doubt Ron’s told you about my new situation.’  
  
Hermione smiles briefly and nods to Malfoy. ‘Of course he did,’ she says. ‘Hello, Malfoy.’  
  
Harry sits in the seat opposite her, and Malfoy stands awkwardly.  
  
Harry looks up at him. ‘Well, go sit at the bar or something, Malfoy. Do your job.’  
  
Malfoy scowls deeply at him, his finger twitching dangerously close to his wand, but he turns on his heel and takes a seat by the bar, with an unfettered view of them both.   
  
When Harry looks back at Hermione she frowns.  
  
‘That was rude, Harry,’ she says.  
  
Harry sighs and pours himself a mug of bitter. He drinks it all in three, quick gulps and pours himself another.  
  
‘I know,’ he says. ‘But I needed a break from him.’  
  
‘Is he so terrible, then?’ she asks. She brings her mug to her lips, her eyes dancing with amusement.  
  
Harry groans. ‘You’ve been talking to Lee again, haven’t you?’  
  
Hermione takes a swig of her drink and sets it down.  
  
‘So what if I have? I know you, Harry Potter. And I know you never, ever wear those jeans unless you’re trying to pull.’  
  
Harry drinks the rest of his ale in two gulps and pours himself another. ‘Shut up, Hermione.’  
  
She only laughs and gestures to a passing waitress for another pitcher.  
  
‘So, tell me all about it,’ she says. ‘Lee tells me you can’t stop fucking him with your eyes.’  
  
Harry splutters. ‘That utter cock! That’s not true at all.’  
  
Hermione titters delightedly, and Harry decides a change of subject is in order.  
  
‘So, when did you see Lee, then? You two still having your clandestine lunch dates?’  
  
Hermione grins mischievously. ‘Perhaps. He’s taken to bringing me lunch at the office.’  
  
‘My God, Hermione,’ he says. ‘Stop stringing the poor bloke along.’  
  
She kicks him hard under the table. ‘I am not stringing him along, Harry. I’m allowing him to properly court me.’  
  
Harry can’t help the bubble of laughter that rolls up his chest and Hermione soon joins him, giggling like a schoolgirl.  
  
‘Come on, Hermione, he’s completely barmy about you! And I know you fancy him.’  
  
She nods, pouring herself the rest of the ale. ‘I do, but.... Ron,’ she says softly.  
  
Harry puts his hands over hers. ‘Ron would be absolutely thrilled for you. The same you would be for him. It doesn’t matter that Lee and George are friends. You’re not betraying anyone, Hermione.’  
  
She threads their fingers together. ‘Harry Potter,’ she says. ‘You’re the best, did you know that?’  
  
He smiles.  
  
  
  
  
Two hours later, they’re both completely bladdered and avoiding scathing looks from Malfoy as he sits beside a group of Muggle women who’re ogling him shamelessly.  
  
‘Do you think he notices?’ Harry asks Hermione, nodding his head towards Malfoy at the bar.   
  
One of the group, a brunette who’s actually quite attractive, keeps darting glances at Malfoy. Malfoy stares desolately into his cranberry juice, occasionally glancing in Harry’s direction.  
  
Hermione shrugs, cheeks flushed. ‘I doubt it,’ she says. ‘But I don’t blame them for trying.’  
  
Harry looks at her, mouth open in shock.  
  
‘Oh, come on, Harry. He’s completely fit, even I can see that.’  
  
Harry sighs and takes a drink of his ale. ‘He is at that.’  
  
‘Look!’ Hermione says, pointing.  
  
In an apparent surge of courage, the brunette breaks free from her group of giggling girls and actually taps Malfoy on the shoulder. Harry tries to swallow down his surge of irritation and watches as Malfoy leans in to listen to what she says, her mouth close to his ear, and her chest almost at Malfoy’s eye-level. He smiles and nods, and says something into her ear. The woman smiles and blushes, and Harry feels his face grow hot.  
  
‘I might be sick,’ he says, looking down into his almost empty mug.  
  
‘Oh, be quiet,’ Hermione says, watching the scene avidly.  
  
Harry can’t help but look as the woman leans into Malfoy’s ear again. Malfoy actually laughs this time, and then he gestures to the bartender and orders the woman a drink.   
  
Harry very much wants to leave.  
  
‘Hermione, are you ready to go?’  
  
She rears back to protest, but apparently the look on his face is enough to stop her in her tracks.  
  
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘It’s late.’  
  
He stands, drops a few notes on the table, and then helps Hermione up out of her seat.  
  
They walk over to Malfoy, who’s still chatting with the brunette, and Harry clears his throat.  
  
‘Malfoy,’ he says. ‘Hermione’s just about ready to leave.’  
  
He hopes his speech doesn’t sound as slurred in reality as it does in his head. Harry’s eyes flick briefly at the brunette, who’s watching him with a half-smile on her face.  
  
‘I’m Abagail,’ she says.  
  
He mutters a small greeting and sways a little on his feet.  
  
Hermione smiles and shakes her hand. ‘Hermione,’ she says.  
  
Malfoy frowns and then turns to Abigail, whispering something in her ear. She smiles and nods, and then, inexplicably, she grins at Harry.  
  
‘It was really a pleasure to meet you all.’   
  
She kisses Draco on the cheek and then bounds off to her giggling friends, and Harry can barely resist rolling his eyes. He braces himself by holding on to the bar counter and makes a sound of annoyance in his throat.   
  
‘Come on, Granger,’ Malfoy says, standing and leading them both to the door. ‘We’ll have to Floo from the Leaky Cauldron, seeing as neither of you can Apparate right now.’  
  
Harry frowns. ‘I can sapparate just fine, thank you.’  
  
Malfoy’s mouth twitches. ‘I’m sure you could,’ he says. ‘But Miss Granger here is in no state to do so, am I right, Hermione?’  
  
Hermione’s eyebrows raise, and she and Harry share a look of surprise.  
  
‘You’re right, Draco,’ she says. ‘It would be dangerous.’  
  
They walk to the tube entrance, take the underground a few stops, and walk the rest of the way to the Leaky Cauldron. Seeing Malfoy ‘mind the gap’ like everyone else is such a surreal experience that Harry’s thankful he’s already drunk.  
  
He and Hermione walk alongside each other, occasionally bumping shoulders and giggling, talking about inane things like how many flavours of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans there really are. Hermione surmises that the possibilities could be endless, seeing as there were so many flavours in the world. Harry figures it would be something more modest, since some flavours are, in fact, inedible.  
  
Harry glances back at Malfoy. He’s looking intently at his shoes, hands deep in his pockets, half-smile on his face. Harry quickly looks away, but it doesn’t stop the warm feeling that burns in his chest.  
  
Then he remembers Abigail, and that Malfoy is apparently...no, probably not interested, and then he scowls.  
  
The Leaky Cauldron is mostly empty of patrons, and Tom barely looks up when they all line up to use use his Floo. They land in Hermione’s neat parlour, and Draco insists on checking everything out before they leave. When he declares Hermione’s flat a safe place, he reaches out his arm to Harry, who rolls his eyes and takes it. He tries to ignore the sudden rush of warmth in his stomach at Malfoy’s touch and Hermione’s faint look of surprise is the last thing he sees before he Apparates with Malfoy into his living room--  
  
\--and is immediately brought to his knees by the glaring sound of the alarm wards. He clutches his ears and crouches over in almost a child’s pose. Malfoy covers his ears and swishes his wand in a complicated gesture, and then the sound is gone. He hauls Harry up by his arm and leads him roughly to the small cupboard under the stairs.  
  
‘Get in there, and don’t move,’ he says.  
  
Harry’s heart pounds hard in his chest, and he shudders involuntarily. ‘I can’t,’ he says faintly.  
  
Malfoy curses. ‘Potter, now isn’t the time to fuck around. The wards are breached. My wards. Someone could still be here.’  
  
Harry shakes his head. ‘I can’t go in there, Malfoy. I can’t.’ His voice cracks, and the panic rising in his chest is almost enough to suffocate him.  
  
Malfoy studies him for a moment and then he sighs. ‘Okay. All right. Calm down.’ He looks behind him quickly. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘You stay behind me, you understand? Take out your wand.’  
  
Harry nods, feeling slightly ashamed at his near panic attack, and then Malfoy takes Harry’s hand and places it at the curve on his bicep. ‘Your hand doesn’t move from that spot, understand?’  
  
Harry nods again, and then they both creep across the living room to the kitchen, switching on lights as they go. The kitchen is empty, and Harry almost wishes for some kind of noise to break the silence. When they reach the staircase, Harry falls behind Malfoy, his hand dropping to his waists. Malfoy stiffens for a moment and then they walk up the stairs together, flipping on the light switch on the landing. They check Malfoy’s room first.  
  
Harry hasn’t been in here since Malfoy moved in. Malfoy has three shrunken suitcases on his dresser, presumably empty since most of his things are strewn about the room. Several Dark Magic texts lay open on his nightstand, along with a pair of black, horn-rimmed glasses. Draco opens the door to his wardrobe. It’s empty except for his clothes thrown about haphazardly inside.  
  
‘Are you always this messy?’ Harry asks.  
  
Malfoy looks at him, bemused. ‘This isn’t messy.’  
  
Harry raises his eyebrow, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. They check the hallway bath, and that, too, is empty.   
  
‘I’ll check the attic,’ he says. ‘Don’t fucking move.’  
  
He pulls on the ladder hook and shoots a beam of light from his wand upwards, lighting the attics as he climbs the ladder. Harry holds his breath as Malfoy’s head and half his body disappears but he steps back down a minute later.’  
  
‘Nothing,’ he says.  
  
He pushes the ladder back up into the attic, and turns to enter Harry’s room, but Harry reaches out and stops him, holding tightly onto Malfoy’s waist.   
  
‘Wait!’   
  
Malfoy looks down at Harry’s hand and Harry pulls away quickly, feeling his face heat. He gestures to his closed bedroom door.   
  
‘Someone must have been in there,’ he says. ‘I left it open.   
  
Malfoy motions for him to step back, and Harry does so reluctantly, thinking he’s quite capable of handling anything Malfoy can. Not to mention he can bloody take care of himself. Wasn’t it him who _Vanquished the Dark Lord_  and  _Saved all of Wizarding kind_  and all that rot?   
  
The second Malfoy pushes the door open, however, Harry’s bravado quickly fades. He remembers that smell. That cologne. Something cheap and cloying. It’s  _him._  He’s been in Harry’s room.  _Again._ What is it that people always say about scent and memory? It’s almost too powerful a trigger, and he staggers and drops down to one knee. His stomach heaves and he closes his eyes briefly, trying to get himself under control. Malfoy looks back at him, eyes wide.  
  
‘What is it?’ he says.  
  
‘He’s been here,’ Harry says.  
  
Malfoy lowers his wand and steps fully into the room.  
  
‘Stay there,’ he says. ‘I’ll check the bath.’  
  
Harry nods vaguely and waits. A moment later, Malfoy comes back unhurt, but he stops dead centre in the room, gazing at Harry’s bed.  
  
‘Potter, come here.’  
  
Harry enters his room staggering slightly, and then he looks at his bed. On it is a single red rose, and the same black envelope from before.  
  
Harry reaches out for it, but Malfoy stops him with a hand on his arm.  
  
‘Let me check it first, you prat.’  
  
Harry shakes his head. ‘Remember earlier?’ he says. ‘If we do that, it will disintegrate.’  
  
He picks up the letter and opens it with shaking fingers.  
  
 _‘Was it good for you, too, Harry?’_  
  
This time the note is scrawled in thick, green ink.  
  
Draco leans over his shoulder to look, but the letter disintegrates.  
  
‘It was for your eyes only,’ Draco says softly. He looks up at Harry. ‘That is really advanced magic.’  
  
Harry looks away.  
  
‘Potter, whoever this is broke through the wards,  _my wards,_  to get to you. It means he’s not only deranged, he’s highly skilled. You need to start taking this seriously.’  
  
Harry sinks down to the floor, resting his back against the foot of his bed. He nods.  
  
Malfoy sits next to him, crossing his feet at the ankle.  
  
‘I suppose you won’t tell me what the letter said.’  
  
Harry shakes his head.  
  
Malfoy sighs. ‘You’re not helping your case by keeping things from us, you know.’  
  
‘I’m not—’  
  
‘Save it, Potter. Something happened to you. I can guess that much.’  
  
‘Please, Malfoy,’ Harry says softly. ‘Not tonight.’   
  
Malfoy watches him for a minute and then drops his wand back into its holster.  
  
‘We need to reset the wards,’ he says. ‘This person knows Dark Magic well. I know you won’t like it, but it means we have to use some of our own.’  
  
Harry nods again, not exactly focusing on what Malfoy is saying but only on the sound of his voice. He says something again, but Harry doesn’t catch it.   
  
Malfoy rests his hand briefly on Harry’s forearm.  
  
Harry looks up. ‘What?’  
  
Draco licks his lips and says almost hesitantly. ‘I asked what happened earlier. You panicked for a minute. Was it something about the cupboard?’  
  
Harry looks away. ‘I don’t like cupboards.’  
  
Draco watches him for a moment longer and then sighs.  
  
‘Go to bed, Potter,’ he says. ‘I’m going to work on the wards.  
  
Harry nods again; the surge of adrenalin he felt earlier is rapidly draining from his body. Malfoy stands and reaches out his hand, offering to pull him up.  
  
‘Thanks,’ Harry says when he’s on his feet.  
  
‘No problem.’  
  
‘Do you need help with the wards?’  
  
Malfoy smirks. ‘Like you could do anything in this state.’  
  
Harry scowls, but when he takes a deep breath, it hitches slightly in his chest.   
  
Malfoy’s face softens and he walks to the door. ‘You had a scare tonight,’ he says. ‘Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’  


 

:::

  
  
In the morning, Harry wakes with a pounding headache, and his mouth tastes like ash. He looks down at himself, irritated to find that he fell asleep fully dressed and his jeans feel moulded to his body. He sits up, rubbing his hands through his hair, and then he spots the wilted, red rose on the dresser. Everything comes back to him in a rush, and he immediately feels ill.  
  
He almost had a panic attack in front of Malfoy. Malfoy. Fuck. His house was broken into. The sick fuck left him a note. He’s absolutely certain he’s never going to tell Malfoy what it said.  
  
He’s never going to tell anyone.   
  
He lifts his wand and sets the rose on fire and then steps out of his clothes and heads straight for the bath.   
  
He turns the dial as hot as he can bear it and steps into the shower, trying to wash all his shame down the drain.   


 

:::

 

  
The rest of the week passes on much of the same, with Malfoy taking as little notice of him as possible and Harry working to shape his new shipment of wood. Malfoy confuses him and frustrates him at every turn. He knows Malfoy's attracted to him. He can see it in the blond's eyes when he catches him staring at Harry's arse, or the way he sometime drops his eyes to Harry's lips. But each time Harry tries to talk to him about something other than his plans for the day or Malfoy's protection detail, he shrugs Harry off. Every time they do talk, however, he asks his never ending questions about Harry's stalker, none of which Harry likes to answer.  
  
Three times, Malfoy tried to convince him to avoid the nightclubs, and three times Harry ignored him. He is not, absolutely not, going to let some fucked up little twat mess with his plans to get laid. Especially now that he's living with such a cock tease. Thursday night went by without a hitch -- straight night, which he attends out of solidarity for Seamus and Lee. Friday night is for him and Dean, when the club changes it's beat and hard bodies press into his.  
  
He almost always pulls on Friday nights. Always Muggles. Never the same person twice, and he never tells anyone his real name.  
  
Friday night finds Malfoy in a foul mood and Harry already dressed in tight jeans and a white V neck, pouring Firewhisky shots in his kitchen. The boys like to meet at Harry's place before heading out, and Harry likes to take a few shots first to ease some of his tension.  
  
Malfoy sits on a stool at the countertop, scowling. Harry drops a shot of Ogden's in front of him.  
  
'Loosen up, Malfoy,' he says, knocking back a shot of his own.  
  
Malfoy watches the shot glass for a moment and then licks his lips slowly. 'I don't drink on the job.'  
  
Harry rolls his eyes, pushing the shot closer. 'I promise not to tell.'  
  
Malfoy absently reaches for his pocket and then sighs. 'I don't drink, Potter,' he says, slowly pushing away the shot glass. His eyes linger on the dark liquid sloshing inside, then he pushes away from the table and stalks out the open French doors.  
  
Harry watches the countertop for a minute, and then the Floo flares and his living room is filled with raucous Gryffindors, ready for a night of mischief.

 

 

:::

  
  
The club, as usual, is packed with the kind of men Harry loves to fuck. He has to squeeze through thick clusters of hard bodies every time he wants to visit the bar. Seamus and Lee play wingmen for Harry and Dean, occasionally commenting on who they think they should attempt to shag. Harry returns to the group with the latest round of tequila shots, balancing the limes on his forearm.  
  
'You'll have to use your sweat for the salt!' he yells over the thump, thump of the music. Lee takes his shot and knocks it back, grabbing a lime, and Dean does the same. He hands one to Seamus, who grins, red faced and already bladdered.  
  
Harry knocks back his shot and sucks on the lime. He's reached the point in the night where no fucks can be given, not even for the awkward moment he spent apologising to Malfoy earlier. 'I didn't know,' he said, but Malfoy just barely looked at him and said, 'It doesn't matter.'  
  
Harry spent the first half of the night frowning into his beer and deflecting the three twinks who tried to make a pass at him, until Dean pulled him out onto the dance floor and told him to cheer the fuck up.  
  
He's thoroughly cheered now, and there's a blue-eyed, brown-haired Greek God who keeps giving him the eye.  
  
'Harry's pulled!' Seamus shouts over the noise, pushing Harry forward by the small of his back.  
  
'Shove off, Seamus,' Harry says, looking back at him.  
  
Malfoy is a few paces behind their small group, leaning up against the wall, ankles crossed, face impassive. Harry looks away quickly, trying to ignore the urge to walk over to him and press their bodies together. It isn't simply lust anymore. There's something about Malfoy that gets under his skin. Something about the way he keeps himself so aloof, so guarded that intrigues Harry more than anything. But he knows it's pointless to wonder. Malfoy would never -- would he?  
  
When the Greek God eyes him again, Lee nudges him forward.  
  
'Go on, Harry,' he says. 'It's about time you pulled.'  
  
He's right. That's the point of the tonight, isn't it? To pull? To fuck faceless men until he forgets whatever's been on his mind that week. Fuck Malfoy. He hands Lee his shot glass and walks forward, smiling at the Greek God until the space between them is closed.  
  
Greek God smiles, deepening the dimple in his chin. 'Hi,' he says.  
  
'I'm Alex,' Harry says.  
  
Greek God smiles. 'Leo.'  
  
'Let's dance.'  
  
He pulls Leo onto the dance floor, noticing out of corner of his eyes that Malfoy is shadowing them. Leo pulls him close and presses their hips together, grinding against him to the beat of the music.  
  
He puts his arms around Harry's neck and pulls him close. 'You have amazing eyes,' he says. His hot breath fans against Harry's cheek, and he nips the underside of Harry's jaw. Harry's cock starts to swell in his jeans.  
  
He hooks his finger through Leo's belt loops and presses the length of his cock against Leo's hip. Leo gasps and drops his head onto Harry's shoulder, pushing the tips of his fingers under Harry's shirt, trailing his fingers on Harry's flat stomach.  
  
'Fuck, you're fit,' Leo says breathlessly.  
  
Harry threads his fingers through Leo's hair and pulls their mouths together. Leo opens his mouth under his, and Harry slips his tongue inside, exploring. Fuck. He's painfully hard now.  
  
Leo drops his hands to Harry's arse and squeezes, and Harry groans into his mouth.  
  
Leo pulls away, lips puffy, brown eyes wide. 'You live close?'  
  
Harry shakes his head. 'Not at all.'  
  
'I'm not too far. Want to get out of here?'  
  
Harry grins and nods, too high on lust and alcohol to care. He spots a bit of white blond hair not far behind, and he pulls Leo close. 'Meet me out front,' he says.  
  
Leo nods and Harry pulls away, headed back to where Seamus and Lee are waiting. Dean is nowhere in sight.  
  
'I need to give Malfoy the slip,' he says to Lee when he's close enough.  
  
'Harry, I don't know --'  
  
'Shut up, Lee, I'm doing it. Just cover me.'  
  
Without waiting for a response he crouches down, staying close to the ground, pushing his way through the crowd. He slips out the back entrance past the bathrooms, knowing Malfoy will never be able to find it. He doubles back and walks around to the front of the club, where Leo is waiting.  
  
He hails the first cab he sees and takes Leo's hand, pulling him inside. Leo falls over him, laughing and slamming the door shut, and then he tells the driver his address. As the car pulls off, Harry catches a glimpse of Malfoy's face twisted in absolute fury before he turns back to Leo, who says 'I'm going to fuck you so hard tonight, Alex.'

 

 

:::

  
  
When he wakes up in the morning, he arse is sore and he has no clue where he is.  
  
He sits up, rubbing his eyes and immediately seeks out his glasses.  
  
'They're on the pillow,' a voice says from the other end of the bed.  
  
Harry straightens up quickly.  
  
The figure at the edge of the bed points towards the pillow beside him, and Harry reaches out and slips his glasses on.  
  
Greek God is smiling at him from where he's perched at the opposite end of the bed, hugging his knees and sipping from a mug of coffee. Like Harry, he's completely starkers.  
  
Memories from last night start flooding back to him, and he feels ill. Malfoy is going to  _flay_  him alive and then maybe feed his remains to Ron.  
  
Greek God's mouth twitches and he smiles ruefully. 'I knew it,' he says. 'You have a boyfriend, don't you?'  
  
Harry laughs even though he feels like doing anything but.  
  
'No, I don't,' he says. 'But I'm still completely fucked.'  
  
Greek God's eyes brighten, and Harry feels his stomach drop when he realises he doesn't remember Greek God's name  _or_  who he pretended to be last night.  
  
Greek God smiles. 'I'm Leo,' he says. 'You're Alex, and you give amazing head.'  
  
Harry feels his face heat. 'Er. Thank you, Leo,' he says. He looks down at himself, noting the red scratches at the sides of his chest and the bruises on his hips.  
  
'Sorry about that,' Leo says. 'I might have got a bit carried away.'  
  
'No problem,' Harry says. 'Look, I hate to be this person, but I really have to leave.'  
  
Leo's face falls slightly before he smiles and nods, sliding off the bed.  
  
'Your clothes are over there,' he says, pointing to the armchair in the corner of the room. 'The bathroom's down the hall to the left.'  
  
'Thank you.'  
  
Leo slips out of the room, and Harry pulls on his jeans, thankful to find his wand and holster still attached.  
  
He pulls on his shirt and heads to the bathroom. He splashes his face with water, rubbing the dark stubble on his face a few times.  
  
He closes his eyes briefly, and the memory of Malfoy's face when he drove away from the club flashes in his mind. Malfoy didn't just look angry, he looked terrified.  
  
But Harry's fine! Nothing happened; there was no stalker to speak of. He apparently gave good head and -- he squeezes his arse cheeks together and groans -- got the fucking of his life.  
  
He walks out of the bath following the hallway to the kitchen where Leo sits naked on a stool eating kippers.  
  
Harry shoves his hands in his pockets. 'I'm off, then,' he says.  
  
Leo stands and leads him to the doorway, opening it out into the hallway of his apartment building, apparently unconcerned about his nakedness.  
  
When Harry steps out, Leo huffs and crosses his arms across his broad chest. 'So, you're not even going to ask for my number?' he asks. 'Not that I'd give it to you, being such an arse as you are.'  
  
Harry looks back at him. 'I'm sorry, Leo.'  
  
'Me too, Alex,' he says, and then he closes the door softly.  
  
Harry looks around, checks for cameras, and then Disapparates straight into his bedroom.  
  
He doesn't take a single step before his door flies open with a bang and Malfoy is standing in the doorway, his face stormy, hair in disarray, still dressed in the same clothes from the night before.  
  
Harry winces.  
  
'Not a fucking word, Potter,' he says storming into the room. 'Did you have a good fuck? Was it worth it?'  
  
Harry stays silent, knowing whatever he says will only make the situation worse.  
  
With a swift movement, Malfoy pulls his wand from his holster and points it at Harry's throat, moving closer and closer so the tip presses into his skin.  
  
'First things first,' he says. 'No more fucking clubs or pubs or  _anything_  unless I decide it's all right.'  
  
Harry opens his mouth to protest, but Malfoy twists his wand and shoves him back up against his wardrobe. His head hits the wood with a hard thud.  
  
'Don't talk,' Malfoy says.  
  
Harry raises his palm in surrender.  
  
'Do you think I actually  _want_  to be doing this? Dealing with the shitstorm after you decide to flounce off like a little slut?'  
  
The word hits him like a slap in the face, and he feels like doubling over and holding his stomach. Harry doesn't say anything, doesn't deny it. Because how could he? It's probably the only thing Malfoy knows about him for certain.  
  
Malfoy lowers his wand and drops it into his holster. 'I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry.'  
  
'It's true, isn't it?'  
  
'No, it's not. I was just -- do you know how much shit I got from Weasley last night? Not to mention the Minister for fucking Magic.'  
  
'I'm sorry about that,' Harry says.  
  
'I don't think you realise how much danger you're in, Potter,' he says. 'I don't think you know how many people at the Ministry have to look out for you.'  
  
'I never asked for that.'  
  
'It's not just about you, you selfish prick! When you're not protected, you put other people in danger. You think I'm just here to protect  _you_? I have to protect everyone around you! Do you know how many threats on your life come in to the MLE every single day?'  
  
Harry blanches.  
  
'I keep telling Weasley you need to know. Maybe then you won't go running off with some Muggle to fuck, Merlin knows where. You put him in danger, too, you know.'  
  
Harry swallows thickly. 'I didn't know.'  
  
'You didn't care. You have a stalker. A stalker who's already warned you about fucking around with Muggles. It's my job to understand people like this, Potter. He's watching you. I don't know how, or who he is. But he's watching you, and he doesn't like you fucking around, which means at some point, he wants to posses you. He already feels some sort of ownership over you in his sick little brain, and if you keep putting yourself in danger, he's going to find you and take you.'  
  
'You think he wants to abduct me,' Harry says slowly.  
  
'I know he does, Potter. And for all I knew, last night, he did.'  
  
Harry closes his eyes briefly. 'I'm sorry.'  
  
Malfoy moves away from him and sits at the edge of the bed, rubbing his face and pushing his hair from his eyes.  
  
'You owe your friends an apology,' he says softly.  
  
'I will.'  
  
Malfoy looks up at him, eye narrowed. 'You're not to be out of my sight. No more bullshit, Potter.'  
  
Harry sits next to him on the bed, toeing off his shoes.  
  
'Call me Harry, please,' he says. 'I hate when you call me "Potter".'  
  
Malfoy eyes him warily. 'Okay, Harry,' he says, turning to face him, lifting his leg halfway onto the bed. 'I need you to talk to me; tell me everything you know.'  
  
Harry's heart starts to pound in his chest. He moves away from Malfoy and rests his back against the bedpost, pulling his legs up onto the bed and close to his chest.  
  
'I know he uses Polyjuice Potion because he told me so,' he says softly.  
  
'When?'  
  
Harry rests his chin on his knees, picking at the hem of his jeans with his fingers. 'On the night the Aurors had to tear down the wards to get in.'  
  
'The night you ended up in St Mungo's,' Malfoy says. 'Harry, what happened that night?'  
  
'Can I just tell you what I know, without talking about  _that_? I'll give you whatever information you need.'  
  
A muscle in Malfoy's jaw twitches and then he nods stiffly. 'At some point, you're going to have to tell  _someone_ , Harry.'  
  
Harry chooses not to acknowledge this. 'He's young,' he says. 'Younger than us both, I think, just from the way he speaks. He has access to potions ingredients, so maybe he's a healer, or a Herbologist. He knows Dark Magic like the back of his hand, so he's probably a pureblood. Or a --'  
  
'Slytherin,' Malfoy finishes sardonically.  
  
'I don't mean it like that.'  
  
'I know what you mean,' Malfoy says. 'Go on.'  
  
'He's not very tall, and I'm certain he went to Hogwarts.'  
  
Malfoy nods, urging him to continue.  
  
'He thinks he's in love with me.'  
  
Malfoy's eyebrows shot upwards. 'Did he tell you this?'  
  
'No. It's the way he spoke to me. He always called me Harry, he was always... tender.'  
  
'Harry, why have you never told the Aurors any of this?'  
  
Harry sighs. 'Because the first time he attacked me, I thought it was just a deranged Wizard, and I'm capable of defending myself.'  
  
Harry looks up defiantly, and Malfoy sighs.  
  
'No one ever said otherwise, Potter.'  
  
'It's Harry. And yes, you've bloody well implied that I'm an idiot without basic self-protection skills on numerous occasions.' Harry pulls his knees even closer and continues. 'The second time I was attacked, as you like to call it, I didn't know it was the same person. I thought he was some idiot with a wand who tried to steal from the store. I thought it was simple theft, and I reported it that way.'  
  
'And the third?'  
  
'The third time was different. I knew then it was the same person, and he was more disturbed than I realised.'  
  
'But still you didn't give us anything.'  
  
'No.'  
  
'What about now?'  
  
Harry looks away. 'Now, I need to shower and change, and apologise to my friends.'  
  
Malfoy watches him for a moment and then sighs, standing up from the bed.  
  
'You're going to have to bring your friends over here,' he says. 'I didn't sleep at all last night, and I'm too tired to protect you out in the open.'  
  
Harry's first instinct is to protest, but he swallows it down and simply nods.

 

 

:::

  
  
He apologises to his friends separately, because getting those two together is always a bad idea. Hermione promises to talk to Lee, Dean and Seamus and tell them everything's fine, but Harry probably won't be going on a boys-night-out for a while.  
  
Ron took him out to lunch, negotiated with a bleary-eyed, disgruntled Malfoy, who insisted Ron never let Harry out of his sight.  
  
At lunch, Harry asks about the threats on his life, and Ron confirmed that yes, they were frequent. Occasionally disturbing, but 90 per cent of the time, not serious. When Harry inquired about the 10 per cent Ron just gave him a stony look and said, 'They've been dealt with.'  
  
Harry had always known Ron was loyal to him, but he allowed himself to forget exactly how much his best friend had done for him in the past, and what he still does even to this day.  
  
'Thank you, Ron,' he says when their meal is almost over.  
  
But Ron only smiles and says, 'For what?'

 

 

:::

  
  
The weeks begin to bleed into each other, and Harry's letters become more and more frequent. For the most part, Harry's learned to ignore them, but Malfoy's growing increasingly agitated. Since he can neither read nor touch the letters, he has to rely on Harry to inform him, and Harry doesn't always tell him the complete truth. He doesn't see the point in making Malfoy anymore twitchy than he already is.  
  
Malfoy seems almost unable to keep his fingers from searching his pockets for a fag, and his mood vacillates daily between paranoia for Harry's welfare and killing Harry himself.  
  
Because he's no longer allowed to go out as much as he pleases, Harry's taken to playing the piano in the evenings, tinkering with little things he's composed. For the most part, Malfoy sits and listens, holding his comments for after Harry's done. They've built a routine of sorts where Malfoy orders dinner for them both -- usually something disgusting that Harry only eats out of courtesy -- and Harry plays the few pieces he knows, tinkering with them and adding his own little twists.  
  
A side effect of all this is that Harry's beginning to know Malfoy in a way he never thought he would. He's beginning to learn all of Malfoy's strange little quirks. He knows that he eats his first meal for the day at exactly 1 p.m. He doesn't eat meat or carbs or grains. He works out in the mornings by doing some sort of odd Kung-Fu dance that Harry's too nonplussed to inquire about. When he's tired, he's cranky and desperate for a fag. He stays as far away from Harry's liquor cabinet as possible, though on some nights, he eyes it with a vague sort of lust that makes Harry wonder if he should clean the place dry.  
  
Malfoy's need for control is alarming. He likes to be precise. He hates it when Harry interrupts him in a sentence. He uses the food scale that Harry's never even touched to measure out his portions. Harry's not been late to work once since Malfoy moved in because Malfoy is paranoid about schedules.  
  
Malfoy starts if Harry calls him by his first name -- Harry's only tried this twice. While it pleased him to put the blond on edge, he doesn't like the tense sort of mood it puts Malfoy in for the rest of the day. He knows Malfoy would never admit it, but Harry's quite certain that he loves Harry's playing. In the evenings, he brings one of his Dark Arts books and reads, sliding on his horn-rimmed glasses and pushing them up his nose. Typically, Malfoy pulls off the bespectacled look better than Harry ever could.  
  
Malfoy likes to pull Harry aside at odd moments and show him a defensive trick or two. Twice, he tried to show Harry how to break free from a headlock, but that just ended up with them both sweaty and breathless and avoiding each other's eyes. Harry doesn't know what to make of the tension between them. He knows Malfoy must feel it too --some days they all but spark if they brush too close against each other -- but Malfoy, for the most part, pretends it's not there. Except when Harry looks up from the piano and catches him watching. Those times, he doesn't look away.  
  
Harry's wanked more in the past month than he has for his entire teenage existence. Twice he had to spell his dildo to fuck him hard and fast just to take the edge off. Today, he's freshly showered and wanked, and eager to practice the new piano piece he'd gotten in the mail.  
  
A few weeks ago, he made Malfoy watch Pride and Prejudice on the telly. At first, Malfoy was completely sceptical about the whole thing, but as Harry watched from the corner of his eye, he noticed that Malfoy kept pushing his glasses up his nose and licking his lips, a sure sign as any that he was firmly engrossed. After, when they talked, he insisted that the plot was completely unrealistic, that someone like Darcy would never fall in love with someone like Elizabeth, and, even if he had, he would never put aside his family. When Harry tried to get him to see the romantic side of the thing, Malfoy just rolled his eyes and said, 'You're getting soft, Potter.'  
  
The only thing they could agree on was that the music was exquisite. So Harry ordered the song book and promised to play Malfoy a piece or two, if it wasn't too beyond his skill.  
  
Malfoy was nowhere around. Probably doing more "yoga" half naked in the freezing cold garden. Twice he's caught his neighbour staring out her window, ogling the pretty blond thing in Harry's back yard.  
  
He sits in front of the piano and rests the song book on the music stand, flipping to the piece he's been working on. It's hard, the first time he tried to play it, Malfoy had covered his ears and told him to try something else -- but Harry's determined.  
  
He has to play the first few bars over and over again, but soon his fingers start working on auto-pilot, and he's halfway through the piece when Malfoy walks in shirtless and damp from sweat and dew, a towel draped around his neck.  
  
Harry's fingers falter and the music fizzles out.  
  
'You're getting better at that,' Malfoy says, walking over to the piano.  
  
'Thanks.'  
  
Malfoy eyes him for a minute and then sighs. He walks over to the bench and gestures with his arm. 'Budge over a bit.'  
  
Harry moves over on the bench, and Malfoy sits next to him, peering at the sheet music with his eyes squinted slightly.  
  
'It's a pretty difficult piece,' Harry says. 'I --' but he's cut off mid sentence as Malfoy starts to play, reading the sheet music effortlessly, not stumbling over the harder parts like Harry does.  
  
Harry watches Malfoy's fingers move swiftly over the keys, open mouthed, scooting over a bit further for Malfoy to get more centre and play.  
  
When he's finished, he lifts his fingers gently off the keys, and Harry stares at him dumbfounded.  
  
'I'm a pureblood, Potter,' he says. 'I've known how to play since I was eight.'  
  
'You shit,' Harry says. 'You've been watching me struggle with this for weeks.'  
  
Malfoy shrugs. 'I knew you wanted to learn for yourself.'  
  
'All that time, listening to me fumble around on the keys,' Harry says, his face hot with embarrassment. 'You probably think I'm rubbish. Just waiting for the right moment to rub it in.'  
  
'Don't be such a tit, Potter.'  
  
But Harry only stares at the sheet music, strangely disappointed.  
  
Malfoy sighs and nudges him on the shoulder. 'Don't be like that, Harry,' he says. 'This is why I didn't tell you before. I knew you'd get like this.'  
  
'Like what?' Harry says, frowning.  
  
Malfoy raises his eyebrow. 'Sulky.'  
  
He takes Harry's hand and places it on the keys. He places Harry's thumb on middle C, and lets his fingers follow in line, resting his palm on top of his. 'All you need to work on is dexterity,' Malfoy says, pushing his fingers down on the keys one by one and then slowly increasing his speed.  
  
Harry can't even hear the notes playing, all he can focus on is the feel of Malfoy's skin against his and the heat of Malfoy's body.  
  
When Malfoy stops, they sit in silence for a minute before they turn to each other, both breathing shallow breaths.  
  
'We can't,' Malfoy says, quickly.  
  
'Shut up.' Harry leans forward and kisses him, pressing his lips against Malfoy's and shifting closer on the bench to cup Malfoy's slightly stubbled cheek. Malfoy makes a small sound in his throat, then his body melts into Harry's, his hands gripping Harry's forearms.  
  
Malfoy lowers his jaw and deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across Harry's and gently nipping his lower lip. Harry lowers his hands, tracing the length of Malfoy's collar bones with his fingers, pushing off the white towel wrapped around his neck. He lowers his hands across the broad expanse of Malfoy's chest, brushing across Malfoy's hard nipples, stroking his sweat-slicked skin. Malfoy's breath hitches and he slips his fingers under Harry's shirt, skimming his sides with his fingers.  
  
He says Harry's name once, softly under his breath and then abruptly, he pulls away.  
  
He takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair and moving slightly away from Harry on the bench.  
  
'We can't, Harry,' Malfoy says, eyes fixed firmly on Harry's mouth.  
  
'Why?'  
  
'Because I wouldn't be doing my job if I allow myself to do something stupid like this.'  
  
'Something stupid?' Harry echoes dully.  
  
Malfoy closes his eyes briefly. 'I don't mean it like that.'  
  
'Well what do you mean?'  
  
'I mean, it's unprofessional,' he says. 'I could get sacked.'  
  
'Bullshit,' Harry says. 'They'd never sack you; you're the best in the department. Tell me another.'  
  
'Don't do this.'  
  
'Is it because it's me?' Harry asks.  
  
Malfoy opens his mouth and then closes it again, and the hesitation is enough to tell Harry what he needs to know.  
  
'Right then,' he says, removing his sheet music and standing from the bench.  
  
As he moves to walk away, Malfoy reaches out his arm and loosely clasps Harry's wrist. 'Harry, don't be -- upset,' he says awkwardly, 'I'm sure there are a lot of other... guys you can be with.'  
  
Harry pulls his arm away. 'Being the slut that I am, you mean.'  
  
'Harry,  _no_. That's not what I mean. I -- It's not that I don't want to. I  _want_  to. Very much. I just --'  
  
'Just what?'  
  
'Come on, Harry. Us? Do remember who I am? What I've done? We hate each other, we always have.'  
  
'I haven't hated you for a long time, Draco.'  
  
Malfoy runs his hands through his hair and sighs.  
  
'I haven't hated you either,' he says. He reaches into his pocket absently and then sighs when he realises what he's done. 'Look. I don't know what I'm saying. I'm attracted to you, Harry. I always have been... a little bit.'  
  
'So what's the problem?'  
  
'It's not that simple!' Malfoy bends over, reaches for his towel on the floor and starts twirling it anxiously in his hands. 'You and I... it'll be too intense. I get distracted. Harry, I'm supposed to be protecting you. And I haven't done a good job of that at all. My wards fail. I miss things... I can't  _think_  around you anymore.'  
  
'And that's my fault, is it?'  
  
'No! No. That's not what I'm saying. I just -- I sometimes think I shouldn't have taken this job in the first place. I was too... involved from the beginning. I don't want to make it worse. And  _fuck_  I could use a fag right now.'  
  
Harry frowns. It's unnerving seeing Draco this flustered. Unnerving and...strangely endearing at the same time. 'Make what worse, Draco?'  
  
Malfoy looks up at Harry with an anguished expression.  
  
'You're really going to make me say it? I fancy you, Harry. I  _have_  fancied you... for ages. Since Hogwarts even. Oh, don't gape at me like that, you've just never noticed because you're the most oblivious prick on the planet.' Malfoy drops the towel on the floor again and rubs his hands nervously on his thighs. 'I know if we --' he gestures to Harry vaguely, 'I won't be able to do my job the way I should.'  
  
He looks up at Harry and threads his fingers through his hair, tucking a few stray curls behind his ears. Harry barely resists the urge to reach out and help him.  
  
'Do you know how I lost you so easily that night? I was too busy thinking about how I wanted to punch that twat in the face for touching you. And then I lost you. Could you imagine if we actually --' He shakes his head firmly. 'We can't Harry. I'm sorry.'  
  
Harry watches him and considers simply punching Malfoy across the face to make him see sense.  
  
'You're really serious right now, aren't you? You've just told me you've fancied me for ages, but yet you can't find the stomach to fuck me.'  
  
Malfoy doesn't say anything.  
  
After almost a minute of awkward silence, Harry sighs and walks away, up the stairs and to his room, ignoring the urge to turn around and snog Malfoy silly.  
  
He slams the door behind him and paces the room a few times. He's wound up, his jeans uncomfortably snug around his cock, and he very much wants to hex Draco Malfoy's stupid face off. Except for his lips. Those can stay.  
  
He sits at the edge of his bed, running his hands through his hair until it's a tousled mess. The door to his bedroom flies open, and Malfoy's suddenly there, crossing the room and edging closer towards him. Harry breathes a shallow breath as Malfoy positions himself between Harry's thighs and holds his face in his palms.  
  
'I'm an idiot,' he says softly, and then he kisses Harry, leaning into him, pressing their bodies together. Harry lifts his arms, wrapping them around Draco's waist. He slips his fingers under the loose cloth of Malfoy's sweatpants, pushing them down just beneath the curve of Malfoy's arse, squeezing the two globes of flesh with his palms.

 

 

  
  
Harry pulls away. 'You never wear pants,' he says breathlessly. 'You're such a tease.'  
  
Malfoy grins. 'You've been watching.'  
  
'You know I have.'  
  
Malfoy's eyes darken with lust and he reaches up, pulling Harry's glasses gently of his face, tossing them high up on the bed.  
  
'So have I.'  
  
He pushes Harry flat on the bed, and they both scramble upwards, Harry tugging haplessly at his shirt. Malfoy straddles him and slaps his hands away.  
  
'Let me.'  
  
He pushes Harry's shirt up to his neck, gathering the cloth in his fingers just under Harry's neck, exposing his chest. He lowers his mouth to Harry's nipple, swirling his tongue in slow, tantalising circles. Harry groans and arches up off the bed. Malfoy shifts his attention to Harry's other nipple, rolling it gently between his teeth.  
  
'Fuck... Malfoy,' Harry says.   
  
Malfoy lifts his head, baring his teeth in a grin that makes Harry's cock twitch. Harry pushes himself up, yanks off his shirt, and then pulls Malfoy down on top of him so they are chest-to-chest.  
  
'Kiss me,' Harry whispers.  
  
And Malfoy does, bracing himself with his palms on either side of Harry's head, his hair falling forward, brushing against Harry's cheek. Harry lifts his hand and threads his fingers in the thick curls at Malfoy's nape. Malfoy nips Harry's lower lip and Harry groans, swiping his tongue across Malfoy's and arching his hips. The length of Malfoy's hard cock pushes right next to his, and when Malfoy starts to roll his hips, grinding their cocks together, Harry's head falls back against the pillow beneath him. Malfoy lowers his mouth to Harry's neck, kissing a trail up to Harry's earlobe and pulling the soft skin between his teeth.  
  
'Malfoy,' Harry gasps.  
  
Malfoy lifts his head from Harry's neck. He's fucking gorgeous, his lips bruised red, his cheeks flushed, his hair dishevelled. 'It's Draco,' he says.  
  
Harry smiles coyly. 'I'm about to come in pants if you keep doing that, Draco.'  
  
Draco grins. 'Would that be so bad?'  
  
Harry runs his palms up the back of Draco's legs and gives his naked arse a squeeze. 'I want to come with your prick in my arse, you dolt.'  
  
The smile disappears from Draco's face and he twists his body, pulling off his sweatpants in one quick stroke. Harry laughs and pulls down his fly, pushing his jeans and underwear off his hips. Draco helps him by scooting down, pulling Harry's jeans by the ankle. As soon as they're off, he crawls back on top of Harry, flinging his leg across him and lining up their hard, straining cocks, rotating his hips in a slow, maddening sort of rhythm.  
  
Harry slides his index finger down the crack of Draco's arse, pressing it against Draco's tight hole. Draco groans, flexing his hips and spreading their precome between them. Harry grips Draco's side and then turns them over with one quick move, straddling Draco's chest. Draco's head drops back hard against the pillow, and his eyes open wide in surprise. Harry loves the way Draco's hair fans out against his sheets. Loves the way Draco breathes heavily, the way Draco's hands never stop their ceaseless exploration of his body, the way he looks completely undone, just from Harry.  
  
'I want to ride you,' Harry says, grasping Draco's cock in his palm and stroking it idly. Draco groans and arches up into his hand. 'But first, I'm going to suck you.'  
  
He pushes himself low enough so that his mouth is directly above Draco's cock. Draco watches him with heavy-lidded eyes, biting his lower lip and breathing shallow breaths. Harry lowers his mouth over Draco's thick cock, his gaze never wavering from Draco's.  
  
He takes the head of Draco's cock into his mouth, covering his teeth with his lips. Draco's eyes slide shut and he groans, lifting his hand and resting it lightly on Harry's head. Harry slides his mouth down the shaft until the head of Draco's cock firmly hits the back of his throat. Harry lifts up off his cock, hollowing his cheeks and making sure to trail his tongue along the sensitive underside, lingering for a few minutes to suck the swollen head.  
  
Draco removes his hand from Harry's head and covers his face with both his palms, his body shuddering with pleasure.  
  
'Oh my God, Harry. Your mouth.'  
  
Harry grins and takes the entire length of Draco's cock into his mouth again, relaxing his throat and pressing his palms flat against Draco's hips. He bobs his head in a slow, teasing rhythm and Malfoy cries out, half laugh, half helpless moan.  
  
'Harry, fuck.  _Fuck_.'  
  
Harry lifts his head and moans around Draco's cock sending deep vibrations into his shaft.  
  
Draco makes a high-pitched keening sound and Harry laughs around his cock, lifting off and wiping the underside of his chin with his palm.  
  
'Malfoy, you loud fuck.'  
  
Draco removes his hands from his face and watches him, his eyes darkened with lust. 'Shut up and ride my cock, Potter.'  
  
Harry wastes no time in complying, crawling up Draco's muscular frame and bracing his hands on his chest. He reaches behind his arse and grasps Draco's cock, rubbing the slick head against his hole, teasing himself open.  
  
Draco grips his hips. 'Harry -- don't you need --' He's cut off by a deep groan as the head of his cock slips a little past the tight ring of muscle, just inside Harry's body. 'Are you ready?' Draco pants, stroking Harry's sides with tender fingers.  
  
Harry pushes himself back, lowering himself slowly on Draco's cock, until his arse cheeks rest again Draco's groin. 'I've been fucking myself thinking about you for weeks,' he says. 'I'm ready.'  
  
Draco looks up at him, eyes wide. He yanks Harry forward with a hand at the nape of Harry's neck. Harry groans at the shift of Draco's thick cock in his arse and the friction of their skin against his cock trapped between them. Draco covers Harry's mouth with his, stifling Harry's small groans as Draco pumps his hips, fucking Harry's arse with long, deep strokes. Harry pushes himself up, bracing himself with his arms. All he can do is stay still and lose himself in the sensation of Draco pounding his arse with his cock.  
  
' _Fuck_... Draco.'  
  
Draco reaches between them and puts his hand around Harry's cock, and Harry tenses. He drops his hips back and Draco stills, looking up at Harry with a crease in his brows. Harry gently moves Draco's hand from his cock and then presses his palms flat against Draco's chest.  
  
'Harry --'  
  
'Let me ride you,' Harry says.  
  
His lifts his hips and slides down, and Draco arches up, gripping Harry's hips hard enough to bruise.  
  
'Harry, let me --' He reaches for Harry's cock again, but Harry's gently slaps his hand away.  
  
'Don't,' Harry says. 'Just let me make you come.'  
  
He rolls his hips, and Draco squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head back. Harry starts to ride him hard, leaning forward and bracing himself on one arm, stroking his cock frantically with the other.  
  
Draco starts pumping his hips again, and Harry's breath hitches in his chest. Draco strokes his prostate on an off kilter sort of motion that's driving him absolutely insane.  
  
'You want me,' Harry says. 'Say it.'  
  
'I do,' Draco says. 'I've wanted this.'  
  
And with that, Harry comes, thick ropes of white come landing on Draco's chest and neck. He drapes himself bonelessly onto Draco's body, pressing their chests together, feeling the slick sheen of sweat and come beneath them and the frantic pace of Draco's heart echoing against his skin. He spreads his thighs wider, wrapping his arms around Draco's neck and breathing in scent of Draco's hair as he continues to pump into Harry's arse at an erratic pace.  
  
'Say my name,' Draco says close to his ear.  
  
Harry pushes himself up, looking into Draco's bright grey eyes. His breath catches at the intensity of Draco's gaze and he leans over and kisses Draco's temple, stroking his hands through Draco's damp hair, dotting kisses along his hairline. Draco looks at him, his mouth parted, breathing soft, shallow breaths, his gaze never wavering from Harry's.  _I fancy you, Harry. I_ have _fancied you... for ages._  Harry presses his lips against Draco's ear and says  _'Draco,'_  in a whisper against his skin. Draco shuts his eyes tightly, arching his back and gripping Harry's hips hard enough to bruise. With a loud groan, he comes hard, filling Harry's arse with hot come, shuddering violently with the aftershocks.  
  
Harry lays spent, draped across Draco's chest. Draco angles himself to his side so that Harry slides gently onto the bed and Harry wraps his leg around him. Draco's half-hard cock shifts pleasurably in his arse.  
  
He kisses Draco's neck softly while Draco strokes his side with his fingertips.  
  
'Harry,' he says softly.  
  
Harry wraps his arms around Draco's neck, arching his hips forward, and Draco groans, kissing him slowly, threading his fingers through Harry's hair.  
  
When Harry pulls away, Draco shifts, pulling himself gently out of Harry's arse and propping himself on his elbow. He reaches out and pushes Harry's hair off his face.  
  
'Why wouldn't you let me touch you?'  
  
Harry immediately tenses. 'You are touching me, silly.'  
  
'Harry.'  
  
Harry sighs. 'You just caught me off guard is all.'  
  
'Off guard? We were having sex. Of course I'd want to touch you. I always want to touch you.'  
  
Harry smiles as Draco's fingers slowly stroke through his hair. Draco bites his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth, and Harry knows he wants to ask him something difficult.  
  
'Is it because of what happened?' he asks softly. 'Did he do something to you, Harry?'  
  
Harry closes his eyes, leaning into the soft touch of Draco's fingers against his hair. He nods without opening his eyes. When he does, Draco's watching him closely.  
  
'Yes,' Harry says softly.  
  
Draco strokes his hair again. 'I wish you would tell me,' he murmurs.  
  
Harry takes Draco's hand and guides it between his legs. Draco grasps his cock, and Harry forces himself to ignore the vague sense of panic rising in his chest.  
  
'There,' Harry says. 'You can touch me, Draco.'  
  
Draco leans in and kisses him, removing his hand from his cock and covering Harry's body with his own. Neither of them acknowledges the shudders radiating through Harry's body, or the soft sound of distress he makes when they part.

 

 

:::

  
  
Harry wakes slowly in the morning, and the first thing he notices is the tenderness in his arse. Draco is an insatiable lover, waking Harry up twice during the night for another go. Harry stretches and turns, studying Draco's profile. He sleeps with one arm tucked under his chin, his pink lips halfway open.  
  
Harry shifts closer and Draco opens his eyes, blinking rapidly at the morning light.  
  
'Hi,' Harry says.  
  
Draco smiles shyly. 'Hi.'  
  
'It's almost time for your Kung-Fu dance thing you like to do.'  
  
Draco's brow furrows and then his mouth twitches with a smile. 'It's called  _Capoeira,_ ' he says. 'I learned it in Brazil.' He reaches out, trailing his fingers down the length of Harry's chest. 'I can teach you if you like.'  
  
Harry tenses as Draco's finger traces the line of hair that leads straight to his cock.  
  
'I don't think, ah, I don't think I'd be any good at it,' Harry says, his gaze shifting downwards as Draco strokes the length of his cock with his hand.  
  
'Oh, I think we can make you flexible enough.'

 

 

:::

  
Harry makes it to work late that morning, and Lee can’t contain his glee when he spots the love bite on Harry’s neck. He looks between Harry and Draco, eyebrows raised, and Harry flips him off.  
  
He goes straight down to his shop, wanting to work on his prototype. He’s thought of a few additions he wants to add to the features, and he knows Draco prefers to stay in the workroom rather than interact with Lee or anyone else who might come into the shop.  
  
Draco’s dressed in his typical work gear. Leather trousers and Dragonhide boots. This time, because the weather is warming slightly, he’s wearing a navy blue v-neck tee and a light leather jacket. Harry eyes him from across the room. Draco likes to sit at Harry’s workbench, reading through various texts and practicing wand work through several pots of tea. He looks up and catches Harry watching him, and gives him a knowing smile.  
  
‘Later,’ he says, looking back down at his book and smirking.  
  
Harry scowls. The smug prick.   
  
The broom flips over in his hands, and Harry grips it firmly. ‘Be quiet, you.’  
  
There’s a soft tapping on the back window of the shop and Harry spins around, surprised. A snowy white owl, the image of Hedwig, hovers just outside his window. Out the corner of his eye, he notices Draco stand up, but he doesn’t really register his movements. He’s too focused on the bird, the  _not_ -Hedwig hovering outside his window.  
  
Harry’s breath hitches and he covers his mouth briefly with his hand. Snowy owls are rare, and not often used in London. Harry hasn’t seen one since...  
  
It’s cruel and it’s meant to throw him off; Harry knows this.  
  
Draco lets the bird in, and it drops himself on Harry’s workbench, looking reproachful when Draco grabs the letter from its beak. He must have been instructed to deliver it only to Harry. The bird nips Draco hard, but Draco doesn’t take note of it at all. He rips open the envelope, and in his palm drops a small figurine of an elf. Draco’s eyes widen and he looks up at Harry.  
  
‘Harry, don’t―’ But this is all he manages before the Portkey activates, and he vanishes.  
  
The next few hours pass in a whirlwind, and Harry doesn’t have a second to consider the despair sitting low in his stomach. The look on Draco’s face before he vanished keeps replaying itself in his mind on an endless loop. Ron took one look at him and assessed the situation.  
  
‘He’s tough, Harry,’ he says. ‘He can take care of himself. We’ll find him’  
  
Harry nodded, but the words didn’t sink in.  
  
Ron has taken over Harry’s security detail himself, along with two of the young Aurors camped downstairs in his living room. Harry slipped off to his room, telling everyone he needed a shower and shave, but he’s been sitting on his bed staring into space for the last hour. When Lilly taps on his window, he looks up, surprised.  
  
When he sees the colour of the envelope in her beak, he waves his wand and lets her in.  
  
The letter has the same untidy scrawl as always.  
  


_‘Your Curse-Breaker is resilient, but he’ll soon break.  
I think you’ve been spending too much time with him, Harry.  
Perhaps you’d like a little time with me.  
I’ll give him up, but only for you.  
Do you remember Leo?  
If you do, you can find us both. I hope you’ll come along and play.’  
_

  
  
Harry’s stomach clenches violently and he drops the letter on the bed. He fingers his wand in the holster and Disapparates.   
  
Leo’s apartment looks the same, except for the figure of Draco wrapped in chains propped at the edge of the bed, his mouth stuffed with a piece of cloth.  
  
Harry runs straight to him and yanks the cloth out of his mouth. Draco falls forward onto his shoulder, and Harry pushes him back.  
  
‘Harry, no,’ he moans, speech slurred.  
  
‘What did he do to you?’  
  
‘Nothing,’ Draco says, gathering his wits. ‘Except drug me. He’s a Potions master. Whoever he is. He doused me with something and tied me up, but that’s it. Harry it’s a trap for you.’  
  
‘He’s right, Harry,’ a voice says from behind them. Harry spins around and Leo, whoever he is, is standing behind them, twirling his wand in his hand. ‘It is a trap,’ he says. ‘But not just for you.’  
  
Harry stares at Leo open-mouthed thinking of that night on the dance floor, kissing him, letting Leo fuck him into the mattress.  
  
‘Leo,’ he says. ‘What is this?’  
  
‘Leo?’ the other man says, laughing. ‘Oh, my dear Harry. Leo is dead. I just used his hair for my latest Polyjuice Potion.’  
  
He moves closer, and Harry places himself protectively in front of Draco.  
  
‘Who are you, then?’  
  
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ he says. He moves closer, leaning in and stroking Harry’s face softly with his fingers. Harry flinches, and Draco bristles behind him, rattling his chains.  
  
‘Don’t touch him, you sick fuck,’ he says.  
  
Leo ignores him. ‘You really shouldn’t fuck strangers, Harry,’ he says. ‘You force me to kill them all.’  
  
‘I don’t force you to do anything.’  
  
Leo smiles, and his eyes flick to Draco. ‘Knowing you,’ he says, tracing the shape of Harry’s lips with his finger, ‘and your slutty mouth, I’m sure you’ve fucked him by now, haven’t you?’  
  
Harry doesn’t say anything, but Draco kicks out with leg, catching Leo in the knee and sending him sprawling on his back.   
  
Harry reaches for his wand in his holster but his stomach drops when he realises it isn’t there -he’d removed it earlier when he was planning to take a bath.  
  
Leo pulls himself up and grabs Harry by the hair, dragging him across the room and pointing his wand at Harry’s throat.  
  
Draco fights against his chains, his face growing red. ‘I’ll fucking kill you,’ he snarls.  
  
‘Ah, but how could you, Malfoy, if you’re dead?’ he asks. ‘You’ve fucked Harry. I don’t like that very much.’  
  
He points his wand in Draco’s direction.  
  
‘No!’ Harry shouts, grappling with Leo and knocking his wand off course, struggling to free himself from Leo’s grip.  
  
Leo pulls him up, twisting his hands in Harry’s collar and pulling them close.  
  
‘I’ll let him go,’ he says, spittle flying from his lips. ‘But only if you stay, and only if you take this.’  
  
He pushes Harry down on the floor, pulling out a small vial of dark red potion from his jeans.  
  
‘Just a mild relaxant,’ he says, grinning. ‘To make sure you’re not too spirited.’  
  
Harry’s eyes dart towards Draco and back.   
  
‘Harry, if you do this, I’ll kill you myself,’ Draco says.  
  
Harry ignores him and silently puts out his hand. ‘Let him go and I’ll take it.’  
  
Leo drops the vial into Harry’s palm.  
  
‘Take it,’ he says. ‘And I’ll let him go.’  
  
Harry pushes himself off the ground and stands on shaky feet. He looks at Draco who frantically shakes his head.   
  
‘Harry, please don’t. Please. It’s what he wants.’  
  
‘Do you have a better plan, then?’  
  
Draco licks his lips, and his eyes dart towards Leo and back.  
  
Harry uncaps the vial.   
  
Draco makes a desperate sound. ‘Harry, I’m supposed to protect you!’  
  
Harry looks up at him. ‘You did.’  
  
Harry gulps the contents in one go, and then he drops the vial onto the floor. The potion immediately courses through his veins. He staggers and presses his hand to his skull. In a flash, Leo positions himself behind him, holding Harry against his chest. All Harry registers for the next few moments is the the rattle of Draco’s chains and the sounds of his voice shouting ‘I’ll kill you!’ again and again. He’s aware of Leo’s palms pushing eagerly under his shirt and the feel of his tongue against Harry’s neck.   
  
‘Maybe we should make him watch, Harry?’  
  
His voice snaps Harry back to the present and he struggles weakly. If Draco keeps fighting his chains, he’s going to do himself serious damage.  
  
‘You said you’d let him go,’ Harry says, his speech thick and slurred.  
  
‘I did.’  
  
Leo tosses a small object in Draco’s direction. It lands in his lap, and then Draco vanishes.  
  
‘Come on love,’ Leo says, holding Harry close. ‘We need to Apparate to a more private location.’  
  


:::

  
  
Harry is floating, hovering in the air, being directed by Leo’s levitation charm. The potion will not allow him to fight. He feels weighed down, sluggish. He can see everything, but nothing makes much sense, and Leo doesn’t look quite the same. He rests Harry gently on a bed, and, with a whispered Incarcerous, Harry is spread eagled.  
  
Leo’s head is now covered with long, stringy, mousy-brown hair, his eyes a brighter blue than before. His mouth quirks as he looks down at himself, realising the Polyjuice has worn off.  
  
‘Do you recognise me, Harry?’ the voice is now higher pitched, the accent more Yorkshire than before.  
  
‘Dennis...?’ Harry says.  
  
Dennis smiles, revealing crooked, white teeth and a dimple in his left cheek. He quickly pulls off his clothes and crawls up the bed naked, straddling Harry.  
  
‘This is a bit like last time, isn’t it, Harry?’  
  
‘Fuck you,’ Harry says weakly. He tries to struggle, but the potion in his veins won’t allow him to move.  
  
Dennis rotates his hips, pressing his already hard cock into Harry’s pelvis.  
  
‘Dennis, please, don’t.’  
  
‘Oh, Harry,’ Dennis says. ‘But you loved it the last time.’  
  
‘You’re sick.’  
  
‘Sick? Oh no, I don’t think so,’ Denis says, rocking his hips into Harry’s. He lets out low groan, and Harry closes his eyes. Dennis smacks him hard across the cheek.  
  
‘You don’t close your eyes unless I tell you to, Harry,’ he says.  
  
Harry glares at him, wishing he could move, wishing he could crush the fucker’s face in with a Beater’s bat.  
  
‘Oh Harry, you’re so fucking beautiful,’ Dennis says, stroking Harry’s face with his fingertips.  
  
Harry thinks about biting Dennis’ finger as it passes close to his mouth, but he can’t get the muscles in his face to respond.  
  
‘And you taste amazing, too,’ Dennis continues as he leans over Harry, pressing the length of his body against Harry’s chest. ‘I bet Malfoy hasn’t tasted your cock, Harry. Has he?’  
  
Harry doesn’t speak, but Dennis’ eyes light up. ‘Saving that for me, aren’t you, love?’ He lowers his face to Harry’s neck, tasting the skin just under Harry’s jaw.  
  
Harry bucks slightly beneath him. His skin burns with arousal, and, inexplicably, his cock begins to swell.  
  
‘Don’t you love my potion, Harry?’ Dennis murmurs against his skin. ‘It heightens every sexual sensation, but completely deadens your nervous response.’  
  
He traces Harry’s jaw with his tongue, and Harry whimpers.  
  
Dennis lifts his head and smiles. ‘See,’ he says, lowering his mouth to Harry’s. ‘You do love it.’ He presses their lips together, shoving his tongue inside Harry’s mouth and rolling his hips. Harry groans, feeling his cock grow more engorged with each stroke of Dennis’ hips.  
  
Dennis lifts his head. ‘This is better than last time, I think. Last time I only got to suck that delicious cock before you used all that Dark Magic on me.’  
  
Dennis reaches his hands between them, tugging at the buttons on Harry’s jeans.  
  
‘This time,’ he says. ‘This time, I’m going to suck you off, and then I’m going to fuck you, Harry. And you’ll love it.’  
  
He pushes Harry’s down jeans and underwear, freeing his hard cock.  
  
‘Look at you,’ Dennis says. ‘Such a slut. You want it, don’t you, Harry?’  
  
He lowers his mouth on Harry’s shaft, and Harry is lost. He can’t stop the tears when they start to seep from the corners of his eyes.  
  
He groans as Dennis sucks the sensitive head while stroking the length of Harry’s cock in his fist. Harry shuts his eyes. Dennis pulls off, a trail of spit fluttering from his mouth to Harry’s cock, and he pinches Harry’s thigh viciously. Harry gasps, opening his eyes again.  
  
‘What did I tell you, Harry?’  
  
‘Dennis, please stop. This isn’t right. I don’t want this.’  
  
Dennis moves his hand from Harry’s cock and scoots up further, straddling Harry.  
  
‘I’ve always loved you, Harry,’ he says. ‘Even more than my dear, dead brother. And I’ll do anything to keep you safe.’  
  
Dennis wraps his hand around both their cocks, stroking slowly.  
  
‘So, I protect you from yourself, from your slutty ways. The way that two people in love should.’  
  
‘I’m not in love with you, Dennis,’ Harry says, strangling a moan when Dennis starts to stroke a little harder.  
  
Something in Dennis’ eyes changes, and he looks down at Harry and frowns.  
  
‘Don’t tell lies.’  
  
He strokes them both fast and hard until, with a weak jerk of his hips, Harry comes and then so does Dennis, his come landing on Harry’s shirt in thick, heavy drops. Dennis collapses on top of him, boneless, and he kisses Harry tenderly on the cheek.   
  
‘See, Harry,’ he says. ‘You do want it.’  
  
Harry closes his eyes and lets the Potion drag him under.   
  
  
When he wakes again, it’s early morning and he’s semi-lucid. His glasses are gone, so he can’t see much of the room. He looks down at the length of his body. He’s still semi-hard. Dennis had removed the ropes his ankles along with all Harry’s clothes. He summons the strength to push himself upwards, so that his back is pressed against the headboard and he’s sitting up. His head lolls forward, and, with supreme effort, he lifts it back up again. He tugs weakly at his bindings and then he thinks about Draco and Ron, praying they’ll find a way to find him. He closes his eyes and thinks of Draco. Draco’s hands on the piano. Draco’s smile. Draco has a million smiles.  
  
The air in the room shifts and Harry opens his eyes.  
  
Dennis sits at the foot of the bed, a bowl of strawberries in one hand, his wand in the other.  
  
‘Awake, I see,’ he says smiling. ‘I brought you something.’  
  
Harry doesn’t say anything. Dennis waves his wand, and the ropes on his left wrist disappear. His arm drops limply to his side and then Harry lifts it, gingerly flexing his fingers.  
  
Dennis pushes the bowl across to him, but Harry doesn't reach for it.  
  
‘Come now, Harry, love,’ he says. ‘You have to eat.’  
  
Harry doesn’t move. Dennis’ eyes flash with anger, and then he scowls.   
  
‘Fine then,’ Dennis says, throwing the bowl across the room. It lands with a crash and shatters, spilling strawberries across the wooden floor. Dennis crawls onto the bed and pulls Harry’s feet hard, yanking him down and twisting Harry’s shoulder painfully. Harry bucks his hips, almost throwing Dennis off, but Dennis pushes his hips down hard.   
  
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small glass vial, he uncaps it and waves it under Harry’s nose. Harry quickly clamps his mouth shut and his heart begins to bound hard in ears.   
  
 _Breathe, Harry._    
  
‘Know what this is, Harry?’ Dennis say, gazing lovingly at the small vial in his hands.   
  
He does, because in that small whiff, what he smelt was Molly’s treacle tart, the sharp, woodsy smell of a broomstick and the fresh, lemongrass scent of Draco’s hair.  
  
‘Amortentia,’ Dennis says rapturously. ‘Just to help you along, Harry. Just to make you see.’  
  
Harry doesn’t say anything. He only knows he has to get out.  _He has to get out._  There’s no way for Draco and Ron to find him now. He has to save himself. It’s up to him.  
  
He gathers what strength he has, praying to all the gods he can think of. He knows that if one drop of that potion touches his lips, he’ll be lost forever.  _Out_  The word begins to repeat itself. Like a mantra in his head. He lifts his free hand, wraps his fingers around Dennis’ small throat, and squeezes as hard as he can. Dennis scrambles against his body, clutching at his throat, trying to loosen Harry’s hold. The vial of potion drops to the bed, rolling off the sheets and shattering on the ground. Harry holds his breath, trying not to breathe in the fumes.   
  
‘Harry,’ Dennis grunts weakly. Harry squeezes harder, feeling the bones in Dennis’ windpipe begin to grind against each other.   
  
Just before he almost loses all his strength, he shoves Dennis off the bed as hard as he can . Dennis falls to the side and onto the floor, landing hard on his head and lying very still. Harry scurries to the edge of the bed, his arm straining in the ropes, reaching for Dennis’ wand. When his fingers grip around it, he points it at his bindings and severs them, and then he stumbles out of the bed, pulling the sheets off with him.  
  
He tries to Disapparate, he’s blocked by the wards, and he can hear Dennis beginning to stir. He has to get outside, wherever he is, and he has to make it past the wards. But he’s rapidly losing all his strength. He pulls the sheet around his body and staggers forward, dropping to his knees and crawling on all fours to the doorway. Just as he’s almost out the door, Dennis grips his ankle.  
  
He doesn’t turn, only kicks and kicks, until the heel of his foot connects with Dennis’ face again and again. Dennis’ nose crunches and he howls. Harry scrambles forward, crawling through the small cottage, dragging himself to the door. He uses the doorknob to pull himself up, glancing across the room to where Dennis is lying flat on his back, clutching at his face.   
  
The door is locked, and tries every unlocking spell he knows, but nothing. Just as he’s about to cry out in frustration, he unlocks it the Muggle way and the door springs open. Without his glasses, he can’t see much, only the green of the landscape and the shimmer of the wards only a few feet away.  
  
‘Harry!’ Dennis croaks from inside, but Harry shuts the door and locks it with a Colloportus spell. He leans back against the door and drops to his knees. His vision is tunnelling; he pushes himself forward and crawls, tearing his knees to shreds by the thick gravel of the walkway. The cottage seems to be in the deserted Highlands, but Harry can’t spare a thought for this, he knows he must keep crawling, clinging to the sheets for what’s left of his dignity, until he breaches the wards and finally Disapparates. 

 

:::

  
  
His room is empty, and the wards blare loudly through the house. He makes a small sound and curls up on the floor, covering his ears. He pulls the sheets around him and shivers.  
  
The door to his bedroom flies open, and the whirring of the wards cease. He whimpers slightly when soft, gentle hands turn him over.  
  
'Harry, oh my God.' It's Hermione. She leans over him, stroking his hair and holding him close. She kisses his forehead wetly, and he lifts his arm and grips her waist.  
  
'Hermione,' he says, embarrassed by how weak and broken his voice sounds, and how very close he is to crying in her arms like a baby.  
  
She kisses his forehead and lifts the hairs from his face. 'I'm here,' she says.  
  
Two loud cracks of Apparition sound by the doorway and Harry tries to push himself up, but then Draco is at his side, hovering over his head in Hermione's lap, eyes wide.  
  
'No, don't move,' Draco says. He's in the same blue v-neck and jeans. Bruises litter his arms from where he struggled against his chains, his hair in utter disarray, dark smudges under his eyes.  
  
Harry lifts his hand to touch him. 'Your arms,' he says.  
  
Draco makes a sound in his throat. 'Fuck my arms,' he says.  
  
Ron is there, too, a solid presence that moves in behind Harry's head. His palm, warm and large, ghosts lightly across Harry's head.  
  
'You fucking idiot,' Ron says. 'I could fucking kill you.' But the wavering of his voice betrays him, and Harry feels his lips press against his forehead.  
  
He's so tired. He wants to slips away, and he vaguely listens to Ron talking over him.  
  
'Can you get a location, fast? He's going to be on the move.'  
  
Draco's body shifts beside him, and he leans over Harry, seeking out his gaze. 'Harry, look at me.'  
  
Harry does, and when the subtle press of Legilimency washes over him, he fights it, stirring slightly on Hermione's lap.  
  
'Draco, are you sure you should?' Hermione says, worriedly.  
  
Draco puts one hand softly over Harry's brow, and he takes Harry's hand with the other.  
  
'Relax, Harry,' he says.  
  
Harry does, and Draco nudges into his mind with his, seeping into his thoughts like water through sieve.  
  
To Harry it's like reliving each moment in the span of a second, but it's not his emotions or thoughts that colours it, its Draco's. He feels Draco's anger rising in a slow boil, but more than anything, what he feels is Draco's guilt. It clogs Harry's mind and makes him grip Draco's hand harder. When the connection is broken, Draco's eyes are shuttered.  
  
Draco looks up at Ron.  
  
'I know where he is,' he says. He gently pries Dennis' wand from Harry's fingers. 'And we have his wand.'  
  
He begins to move away, but Harry reaches out with his hand.  
  
'Draco.'  
  
He knows what he wants to say. He wants to tell him it's not his fault, he wants to tell him he loves him, to be careful, but he's too tired to speak, so instead, he catches Draco's eyes again and opens his mind and sends the message straight to his heart.  
  
 _I love you._  
  
And the rush of feeling that comes back to him is enough, and Harry knows his feelings are returned.  
  
 _Don't kill him._  
  
Abruptly the connection is broken, and Draco stares stonily at him. 'I won't make any promises.'  
  
He kisses Harry fiercely, and then he leaves, taking Ron with him.

 

 

:::

  
  
When Hermione offers to Levitate him to the bed, he immediately declines.  
  
She helps him up and he sits at the edge of the bed, still wrapped in Dennis' sheets.  
  
'Harry, I have a potion I need you to take,' she says, reaching into the pocket of her jumper.  
  
Harry immediately shakes his head. 'No more potions,' he says softly.  
  
She rubs his back with her palm in slow circles. 'Harry, it'll make you feel better,' she says soothingly. 'It should remove any potions in your system, and after, I promise you won't have to take anything else.'  
  
He looks at her, bleary eyed.  
  
'Ginny made it,' she adds. She smiles reassuringly and uncaps the vial. It's dark blue with a few iridescent streaks swirling around the top, like oil in water.  
  
Harry takes it from her and swallows it all quickly.   
  
'There,' she says, taking the vial from his hands.  
  
Hermione looks down at his knees. The sheet is soaked through with two large circles of blood.  
  
'Do you want me to take a look at them?' she asks.  
  
He shakes his head. 'My wand?'  
  
'It's over here,' she says, getting up and picking up his holster from the side table. He takes it in his hand and wryly thinks about the activation code. The wand slips into his hand and he grips it in his fingers. His heart swells considerably, as if the warmth from the phoenix feather is seeping into his core.  
  
'I need a bath,' he says, still staring at the wand in his hand.  
  
He can feel the apprehension and worry rolling off of Hermione in waves. He looks at her.  
  
'I'll be fine, Hermione.'  
  
Hermione hesitates. 'I'm just not sure I should leave you alone right now, Harry. I think you're in a bit of shock.'  
  
Harry raises his brow. 'Are you going to help me have a bath then?'  
  
Her lips quirk. 'I could be... professional about it.'  
  
The urge to smile doesn't come. 'I'll be fine, Hermione,' he repeats.  
  
Hermione's expression falters. 'Oh, Harry, if only you could hear the way you sound right now. Or see the look on your face.'  
  
'I just want to be alone for a while,' he says.  
  
Hermione nods. 'Promise me you'll leave the door open,' she says. 'And I'll wait in Draco's room for you.'  
  
He agrees and, after hovering in the doorway for a moment, she leaves.  
  
The potion is doing its job. He's feeling more clear-headed and lucid by the second, but what it also does is bring all his aches and pains glaringly to his attention.  
  
His wrists hurt, his shoulders, his spine... other places that he's not ready to consider.  
  
He was unconscious for at least eight hours. Dennis must have had a field day with his body.  
  
He stands and walks into his bathroom, leaving that door open as well. He avoids the mirror and waves his wand at the faucet. He tests it absently with his fingers and then summons his bath soap from the cupboard beneath the sink. He dumps half the contents into the bath and tosses the rest aside, not caring that he's throwing soap everywhere. He lowers himself into the tub even though it's only quarter-way full. He sits, pulling his knees to his chest. He cleans the blood and stones off his knees with his wand, but he doesn't know any healing spells, so it'll have to do. He stretches his legs and winces at the burn as the water rises up over his legs.  
  
When the tub is full, he waves his wand and shuts off the water. The room is eerily silent; only the swishing of the water and the sound of his breaths echo against the small windows of his bathroom.  
  
He absently grips his wand and stares at nothing, and then, when he musters the courage, he clenches his arse muscles and closes his eyes. He can't ignore it anymore. He's sore. All the way through.  
  
He knows for sure now he's been penetrated. Maybe more than once. He lets the information sink in. He turns it over slowly in his mind. He's glad, at least, that he has no memory of it. At least he knows that Draco doesn't know, because  _he_  didn't know.  
  
He swishes the water in the tub, forming more and more soap suds to bury himself into, then, alone in his bathroom and staring at the ceiling, he makes the quiet decision never to tell a soul.  
  
He grips his wand, sinks under the water, and listens to the silence.

 

 

:::

  
  
He comes down the stairs half an hour later in his sweatpants and a jumper, wearing an old pair of glasses. Hermione looks up from where she's making sandwiches in the kitchen.  
  
'You're finished,' she says. 'I just came down to fix something for you, I was going to bring it up.'  
  
He smiles. 'That's all right,' he says, sitting at the island where she's working. 'I'm not hungry, though.'  
  
She stops spreading mayonnaise on a piece of wheat bread and looks up at him.  
  
'Harry, I'm sure you need to eat something.'  
  
'Hermione, I can't eat anything right now. My stomach is in knots.'  
  
She purses her lips. 'At least drink a cup of tea, then,' she says, turning around and placing the kettle on the stove.  
  
When she turns to look back at him as though daring him to protest, he acquiesces by raising his palms.  
  
'Have you heard anything?' he asks.  
  
She shakes her head.  
  
'Would you like a little dreamless sleep in this, Harry? I'm sure --'  
  
'No potions, Hermione,' he says sharply.  
  
She closes her eyes briefly and curses under her breath. 'I'm sorry, Harry,' she says. 'I forgot.'  
  
He sighs, loosening his grip on his wand. He hasn't set it down once since it was returned to him.  
  
'It's all right.'  
  
She sets his tea in front of him in a saucer and hands him the milk and sugar.  
  
He fixes his tea absently, aware that she's watching him. When he catches her eye, she smiles, and her eyes fill.  
  
'I'm just so happy you're okay,' she says. 'It was terrible. The whole thing.'  
  
He sips at his tea, not wanting to talk about how "terrible" it really was.  
  
Hermione starts tidying up, putting his sandwich aside for Harry in case "He needed it later."  
  
When he finishes the tea, he drops the cup in the sink and walks to the French doors. It's only then he notices one of the squares of glass had been punched through. He traces the jagged edge lightly with his fingers and turns to Hermione, who's standing a few paces behind him with her arms folded.  
  
'Draco was upset,' she says. 'When he got here, all we knew was that you went after him, so we were all startled. He was exhausted. He somehow got a hold of his wand and Apparated here in chains. Ron got him out, he told us what happened. Then he did that.'  
  
Harry looks at the door again.  
  
'I cleaned up the blood and healed his hands, but the glass was too shattered to be repaired with magic, so we had to leave it.'  
  
Harry considers this without much interest. He could care less if it's fixed or not.  
  
He walks over to the piano and sits. His sheet music isn't there, but the lid is open.  
  
'He sat there a lot, too' Hermione says, sitting on the arm of the sofa closest to him. 'Did you know he can play?'  
  
Harry nods.  
  
'He loves you, you know.'  
  
Harry nods again.  
  
'Harry, I think you should rest,' she says.  
  
He nods again, but he only registers her presence when she gently pulls him up and leads him to the couch. 'You can sleep here, close to the Floo. This way you'll know when he comes back.'  
  
It's only when his head hits the cushion he realises how exhausted he really is, and he closes his eyes and falls asleep.

 

 

:::

  
  
He startles awake when someone touches his hair, and he grips a pale forearm hard, his body tense and ready to fight.  
  
'Stop, stop. It's me, Harry.'  
  
His eyes adjust and focus on Draco's grey eyes, wide with worry. He's showered and changed, in a grey sweatshirt and sweatpants. He smells of Harry's soap and shampoo.  
  
Harry loosens his grip and settles back into the couch. Someone, probably Hermione, had thrown a thick blanket over him during the night. Draco's sitting on the floor, his chin propped on his arms.  
  
'What happened?' Harry asks.  
  
'We got him,' Draco says.  
  
'And...?'  
  
Draco doesn't say anything for a moment. 'Weasley got to him before I could.'  
  
Harry closes his eyes briefly. 'He's dead?'  
  
Draco nods. 'Good fucking riddance.'  
  
Harry's chest feels heavy with guilt, but mostly relief.  
  
Draco stands slowly and reaches out his hand. 'Come on,' he says. 'Let's get you into a real bed.'

 

 

:::

  
  
When he wakes again, it's only just after first light, and Draco is lying next to him, eyes open, watching him sleep.  
  
When he notices Harry's awake, he moves closer. 'Morning,' he says.  
  
'Hi.'  
  
He reaches out to touch Harry's arm.  
  
'We have to get you to a Healer today,' Draco says.  
  
Harry's heart flutters in his chest. The thought of some Healer prodding and poking at his body makes him ill. 'I'm fine,' he says.  
  
'Let's just be sure, okay?'  
  
Harry doesn't say anything, but when Draco reaches for him again, he shifts closer and burrow into Draco's warm, broad chest.  
  
It would be stupid if he cries, so he doesn't. Even though he wants to.  
  
Draco just holds him and Harry hangs on.  
  
'Do you want to talk about it?'  
  
'What for?' Harry mumbles into Draco's chest. 'You've seen everything,'  
  
'It might help.'  
  
Harry pulls away slightly, looking Draco in the eyes. He remembers the first time he was this close to Draco, when Draco healed his nose and cleaned the blood off of his face with his wand. If Draco could heal this, he'd be happy.  
  
'I'm glad he's dead.'  
  
Draco nods. 'So am I.'  
  
'I feel terrible because of his parents,' Harry says. 'Because of Colin. But I wanted him dead, Draco. I'm so glad he's dead.' Harry's voice wavers on the last few words, and he shuts his eyes briefly. 'That Night, in this room. He was someone else, but he tied me up here, in this bed, and sucked me off, and I came in his mouth and I was disgusted with myself.'  
  
Draco's arm tenses. 'The Dark Magic,' he says. 'Was it yours?'  
  
Harry nods. 'I don't know what I did,' he says. 'Last night I kept wishing it would happen again, but it didn't. I was too weak.'  
  
'You're not weak. You escaped on your own. You made it here.'  
  
'But not before I let him --'  
  
Draco grips him fiercely.  
  
'You didn't  _let_  him do anything, Harry. He took something from you.'  
  
Harry sighs. 'Let's not talk about it anymore.'  
  
Draco watches him for a minute, his forehead creased with worry. 'Okay,' he says. 'Do you think you can eat this morning?'  
  
Harry's stomach clenches. 'No,' he says shortly.  
  
Draco doesn't say anything, but he threads his lower lip between his teeth and then he sighs.  
  
'Harry,' he says. 'I'm sorry I didn't do my job the way I should have. None of this would have happened if I was more careful.'  
  
'It wasn't your fault.'  
  
Draco nods, but it's clear to Harry that he doesn't believe it for a second.  
  
'I'll have Ginevra come over this morning,' he says.  
  
Harry straightens up and sits cross-legged on the bed, and Draco looks up at him, bleary eyed.  
  
'Don't you want to get a little more sleep?' he asks.  
  
Harry shakes his head. 'Do you think you can have someone else come? I'd really rather it not be Ginny.'  
  
Draco frowns and then reaches out to stroke his back. 'All right,' he says. 'We can ask another Healer.'  
  
'Thanks.'  
  
Harry slips off the bed and pads to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

 

 

:::

  
  
The Healer comes a little after noon. He's a tall, older man, with thick dark hair, greying slightly around the temples. He's thin, dressed in a grey shirt and slacks, without the usual lime-green robes. Harry likes him a bit better for that.  
  
'I'm Healer Aberdeen,' he says, holding out his hand.  
  
'Harry.'  
  
Harry shows him the way to his room, away from Draco and Hermione's anxious looks. When he shuts the door behind them, Aberdeen gestures to the curtains.  
  
'Do you mind if I let in some light, Harry?'  
  
Harry gestures vaguely and sits at the foot of the bed, watching as Aberdeen waves his wand, flinging the curtains open, flooding the room with light.  
  
He waves his wand again, and a little fold out chair materialises just in front of where Harry is sitting. Healer Aberdeen sits, pulls out a miniaturised chart in his pocket, expands it, and pulls out a pen from his shirt pocket to write.  
  
Harry observes all this in a state of mild discomfort, swallowing thickly while digging his fingers into the bed-sheets.  
  
Healer Aberdeen observes this and then drops the chart on the floor next to him.  
  
'Let's do this the easy way, shall we?'  
  
Harry can see no easy way about this and he considers telling Aberdeen so, but he holds his tongue instead.  
  
'Let's start off with where it hurts.'  
  
'My wrists,' Harry says, 'my ankles and my shoulders.'  
  
'Where you were bound,' Aberdeen says. He stands and folds his arms. 'You think you can take off your shirt for me, Harry?'  
  
Harry nods and does so a little stiffly because of the pain in his shoulder.  
  
Aberdeen waves his wand over Harry's shoulder and frowns. Harry's shoulder tingles with a strange sort of warm sensation.  
  
'Just a little bruised,' he says. 'Let's fix that. Can you turn around a bit for me?  
  
Harry does and Aberdeen gently presses the wand tip against the nape of Harry's neck. The pain in his shoulders immediately recedes. Harry rolls them experimentally.  
  
'No, no. Don't do that. You want to watch your movements for the next few days Harry. No heavy lifting or anything of that shorts. Don't rotate them like that. No reaching for high shelves.'  
  
'And the piano?'  
  
Aberdeen's face lights up. 'Oh, I didn't know you played. Yes, that should be fine.'  
  
Next he heals Harry's wrists and other bruises along his torso. A few scrapes on his forearm when he fell. His knees.  
  
All in all, Harry feels almost 100 per cent when the Healer is done.  
  
Aberdeen gestures to the space next to Harry. 'Do you mind if I sit?' he says. Harry nods and shifts aside to make room.  
  
'Mr. Malfoy tells me you won't eat.'  
  
Harry rolls his eyes. 'Not won't,' he says. ' _Can't._ '  
  
'And why is that?'  
  
'My stomach is in knots, and I have no appetite.'  
  
Aberdeen clicks his pen and summons his chart. 'I'm going to give you a nutrient potion,' he says. 'But if you're still not eating within the next few days, we'll need to discuss this further. Seem fair?'  
  
Harry nods.  
  
He finishes his notes and sets the notepad next to him on the bed.  
  
'Now here's the hard part, Harry,' he says. 'And I apologise beforehand, but we're going to have to talk about some difficult subjects now.'  
  
Harry swallows and nods.  
  
'Since this is a sexual assault case, we need to have a few things on the record, just in case an inquiry is brought to the Wizengamot by Dennis' family.'  
  
'Oh,' Harry says.  
  
'It's strictly confidential between those person's handling your case, but for someone of your notoriety, even more measures have been put in place to protect you.'  
  
Harry knows he has Ron to thank for this. 'Like what?'  
  
'You're being given the option to testify or not. You and I are going to decide right now whether you want this case listed as a sexual assault or a kidnapping.'  
  
'How will we determine that?'  
  
'I'll have to examine you, Harry.' Aberdeen says softly.  
  
'Can I refuse?'  
  
'You'll be well within your rights to do so,' Aberdeen says. 'Or, I can examine you, and keep it strictly off the record.'  
  
Harry looks down at his lap. 'Why would you need to examine me, then? I'm sure I'm fine.'  
  
Aberdeen nods. 'That may very well be so. Fortunately, Mr. Creevey tested negative for STD's, HIV and the like, but I'd still like to test you just to be sure.'  
  
Harry's heart thuds in his chest. He'd never even considered --  
  
'It's okay, Harry,' Aberdeen says, as though reading his mind. 'You've had a lot on your mind, so many things have happened in such a short space of time, it's all right if you feel a bit overwhelmed.'  
  
Harry nods again.  
  
Aberdeen touches his arm reassuringly and continues. 'If you were penetrated, Harry, I'd have to make sure there isn't any internal damage or bleeding.'  
  
'And if I wasn't?'  
  
'Harry, according to the reports, you must have been unconscious for some time,' Aberdeen says. 'I'd still want to examine you to be sure.'  
  
Harry looks away, observing the subtle colour swirls in the wallpaper Hermione helped him pick out. He thinks perhaps, he'll spend a few days redecorating his room. He's tired of it. He thinks he might prefer something light and airy. Light blues instead of dark greens.  
  
'I was penetrated,' he says. 'But I'd like it if we could keep this off the record. And file the report as a kidnapping only.'  
  
Aberdeen nods. 'All right,' he says. 'That's what we'll do.'  
  
Harry doesn't remember the rest.

 

 

:::

  
  
The next few weeks move by slowly. The only relief he can cling to, is that all his tests were negative. Harry takes the nutrient potion when he has to, but he's still completely uninterested in food. Aberdeen returns with a new supply, and with strict orders for Harry to attempt to eat some soup for at least one meal a day. Which, of course, he hasn't even tried.  
  
Draco's taken some time off from the Ministry, and he's always there, always hovering anxiously around Harry as though expecting him to break. Hermione is the same. She's been staying in Draco's old room while, without a word between them, Draco's moved into Harry's.  
  
Harry doesn't mind this, except he's taken to locking the bathroom door even if he's going in for a piss, and he knows this troubles Draco immensely. But Harry's not been in the mood for talking, and he wishes everyone would just stop trying to make him.  
  
He leaves the house for the first time in weeks when Ron comes over and takes him out to a match. When Harry brushes aside Draco's offer to come along, he immediately feels guilty at the look on Draco's face, but he doesn't change his mind.  
  
The match does a lot to lift his spirits, especially when he sees the look on Ron's face when the Canons win. He waves the stupid orange flags along with everyone, and sings the stupid Canons song and feels human again, for at least a while.  
  
When Ron tries to get Harry to join him for dinner though, he declines.  
  
'Harry, you can't live off those potions forever, you know.' Ron says, tying his Canons scarf more tightly around his neck. 'You won't be able to lift a broom soon enough.'  
  
Harry laughs, because only Ron could make him laugh about something that's been gnawing at him for weeks.  
  
'I promise to eat with you when I've got my appetite back,' Harry says.  
  
Ron smiles at him and concedes.

 

 

:::

  
  
He starts going back to work after that, only to find the shop's been completely gridlocked with back orders in his absence.  
  
He takes a sort of grim pleasure knowing there's something he can throw himself into. And he does. He leaves before Draco wakes in the mornings and he returns late at night. This way he can avoid Draco's sympathetic looks, or the way Draco shies away from him in the mornings when it's obvious he has an erection. As though Harry's some sort of damaged princess he can't bear to fuck.  
  
It's late, after nine, and he's still in the shop working on carving down the last batch of cedar he has stockpiled. He pulls off his shirt and waves his wand and douses the flames in the fireplace. The room is stiflingly hot.  
  
He flings open the back door and opens all the windows, and starts violently when he turns and notices Draco standing on the bottom stair, hands shoved in his pockets.  
  
'Hi,' he says softly.  
  
'Fuck, Draco. You scared me.'  
  
'I'm sorry.'  
  
Harry walks back over to his work table and picks up his carving knife again. 'What is it?' he says, twirling the knife absently in his hands.  
  
Draco shrugs, walking over to his usual spot in the workbench close to the wall, slowly removing his jacket.  
  
'I wanted to see you,' he says. 'This seemed to be the only way to do that.'  
  
Harry watches him. He's switched his leather pants for jeans, same Dragonhide boots and a green shirt. Harry's relieved to feel the familiar stirs of arousal pooling in his stomach.  
  
'Now you have,' Harry says. 'What next?'  
  
Draco raises his eyebrows. 'Do you have to be such a prick, Potter?'  
  
Harry smiles wanly. 'If it gets you to stop walking around me like I'm precious china, then yes.'  
  
Draco sighs and looks down at his feet. 'I'm sorry.'  
  
'Don't apologise.'  
  
Draco glances up at the worktable. 'What are you working on tonight?'  
  
Harry shrugs. 'Nothing special. Standard racing broom. We've had a lot of orders come in.'  
  
'Is that why you're never home?'  
  
Harry leans over the worktable and starts to carve. 'Yes.'  
  
'Not avoiding me, then?'  
  
'Why would I?'  
  
Draco stands, walking in front of the bench, leaning back against it with his ankles crossed.  
  
'I don't know,' he says lightly. 'Maybe you're angry with me.'  
  
Harry drops the knife, and straightens up. 'Why the fuck would I be angry with you, Malfoy?'  
  
'I can think of a thousand reasons,' Draco says.  
  
'Well that's your own shit. Don't put that on me.'  
  
'I should have protected you. I got distracted.'  
  
'If I recall, I was the one who distracted you, so let's not even go there.'  
  
'I'm not blaming you,' Draco says quickly.  
  
'Well I'm not blaming you either, so you can shut up about that.'  
  
Draco sighs. 'I didn't want to argue with you tonight.'  
  
'Then what did you want?'  
  
Draco throws his hands up in frustration. 'I don't know, Harry'  
  
Harry moves closer to him. 'Did you want to fuck me?'  
  
Draco narrows his eyes. 'Don't be...' he trails off losing his words as Harry closes the space between them. 'Harry, don't.'  
  
Harry stops in front of him with only a hair's breadth between them. This close to Draco, he has to look up to meet his eyes.  
  
'I'm going to kiss you,' he says. 'Tell me now if you don't want me to.'  
  
'Harry --'  
  
Harry grips Draco's waist, pulling their hips together, wanting Draco to feel how hard he is.  
  
'Don't you want me to?'  
  
'Yes,' Draco breathes, leaning forward and capturing Harry's mouth with his.  
  
Harry takes control of the kiss, pushing Draco back until the back of his legs hit the workbench behind him. Draco sits on the table and Harry presses unto him, and Draco pushes back. Harry drops his jaw, angling his head slightly to deepen the kiss and Draco moans into his mouth, trailing his hands along the muscles in Harry's back. He wraps his legs around Harry's waist, and Harry rests his palms flat on the table on each side of Draco's thighs.  
  
Draco pulls away, breathless, face flushed.  
  
'Harry,' he says, softly. 'Are you sure?'  
  
Harry nods. 'Yes.'  
  
Draco rests his forehead on Harry's chest, his fingers ghosting along Harry's prominent rib cage. 'I wish you would eat something,' he says. 'You're getting too thin.'  
  
Harry threads his fingers in Draco's hair and he lifts his head, gently resting his chin against Harry's chest.  
  
'You still want me, don't you?' Harry tries his best to mask the uncertainty in his voice, but the expression on Draco's face makes it clear he didn't do a good job of it.  
  
Draco's drops his hands to Harry's arse and squeezes.  
  
'Of course I want you, Harry,' he says.  
  
He gives Harry a look of such tenderness that Harry's breath catches in his throat. Draco stands, pressing his body flush against Harry's, and he Disapparates them both.  
  
They land in the middle of Harry's room, clutching each other and kissing desperately.  
  
Hermione's voice drifts in from the hallway, but Draco absently waves his wand, and the door shuts and locks. He tosses his wand to the floor and pulls his shirt off and then pulls Harry close, threading his hand in the thick hair at Harry's nape, kissing him hard. Harry arches into him, gripping Draco's forearms, pouring everything he can into the kiss. His forgiveness, his love, his desire.  
  
Draco makes a small sound and pulls away from Harry. 'Do you want to top?' he says, cupping Harry's face and rubbing the pad of his thumb on Harry's lower lip.  
  
'No.'  
  
Draco sighs. 'I don't want to fuck this up, Harry,' he says softly.  
  
Harry presses the heel of his hand against the swell of Draco's cock and Draco groans, lifting himself up on his toes.  
  
'You won't.'  
  
Draco steps away from him, pushing off his jeans. Harry does the same and then crawls eagerly up onto the bed. Draco follows, crawling over him and straddling him.  
  
At first, Harry expects to find himself assaulted by the memory of being in the same position, but when he looks up at Draco, at the tenderness in his eyes and the softness of his smile, the way Draco's hair falls freely, just barely brushing his shoulders, he doesn't think of -- him at all. Only Draco, and the memories they're making now.  
  
'Are you okay?'  
  
Harry nods. 'Come here.'  
  
Draco leans forward, draping himself along Harry's body, Harry lifts his leg and wraps is around Draco, his calf resting on Draco's arse. Their cocks press together, trapped in the heat between their bodies.  
  
Draco lowers his mouth to Harry's lips and arches his hips, dragging his cock alongside Harry's. Harry groans into Draco's mouth and nips Draco's bottom lip with his teeth. Draco pulls away, licking a trail along Harry's stomach all the way down to the thin line of hair leading to his cock. Harry watches him, watches as Draco takes the head of his cock into his mouth, watches as Draco slowly drags his lips down his shaft, and when the memories begin to flood Harry's brain, he gasps and pulls away slightly. Draco lifts up immediately, looking up at him with a worried expression.  
  
Harry takes a few deep breaths, eyes closed, hand over his mouth, Draco crawls over his body lying in the space next to Harry. When Harry opens his eyes again, Draco's next to him, propped on his arm watching carefully.  
  
'I'm sorry,' Harry says.  
  
'Don't be.'  
  
Harry pulls off his glasses and tosses them aside, then he leans forward and kisses Draco softly. 'I still want to.'  
  
'Harry, you need some time. It's normal to wait.'  
  
'No! No. Draco, you don't understand,' Harry's says. He shifts closer and hooks his legs over Draco's arse again, pressing his hip against Draco's still hard cock. 'I need to do it, now...I want to push past it, test my limits, see what sets me off, or else...'  
  
'Or else you'll never try.'  
  
'Exactly,' Harry says. 'Draco, I want this. Please.'  
  
Draco sighs, and pushes his hair off his face with one hand. 'Fucking Gryffindor,' he says. 'You know I love you, yes?'  
  
Harry smiles and touches Draco's cheek. 'Yes.'  
  
'I don't want to be like him, Harry. I don't want to hurt you.'  
  
'You won't. You're nothing like him.'  
  
Draco kisses him, and reaches between Harry's legs, bypassing his cock completely and lightly circling Harry's hole with his index finger. Draco lifts up, pushing himself closer to the edge of the bed.  
  
'Lube?' he says.  
  
Harry summons it from his bathroom cabinet and it zips out the bathroom door, smacking Draco hard in the back of his head. Draco yelps, grabbing the lube from where it lands with a dull thump on the bed. Harry can't hold back his laugh.  
  
'Fuck you, Potter.'  
  
'Yes, that's the point.'  
  
Draco sticks out his tongue and uncaps the tube, unceremoniously squeezing a large dollop of lube straight onto Harry's hole.  
  
Harry yelps. 'That's cold, you arsehole.'  
  
Draco smiles wickedly, his tongue peeking out from between his teeth. He traces Harry's hole with his finger, and Harry forgets about being annoyed. Draco spreads the lube along Harry's soft skin, his fingers slipping inside every so often. Harry relaxes his body, spreading his thighs and pushing himself onto Draco's finger.  
  
'S'good,' Harry moans. 'Another.'  
  
Draco complies, gently twisting his index finger and adding another to Harry's hole. He curls his finger upward, searching for Harry's prostate.  
  
Harry's cock begins to stir, growing hard and heavy against his stomach.  
  
'Up, up,' he murmurs breathlessly. Draco understands and angles upwards, scissoring his fingers and teasing Harry's prostate with every move his fingers make. Harry grasps the bed sheets tightly, arching his back slightly. Panting. He's being lifted up, up into a vortex of pleasure. His ears buzz with the blood rushing through his veins.  
  
'Harry, you're so fucking hot like this,' Draco says in a deep, gravely voice that makes Harry's cock twitch in anticipation.  
  
Draco bends over his groin, and first Harry thinks he's going for his cock again, but Draco lowers his mouth to Harry's hole and places a soft kiss with his lips. Harry's stomach tightens in anticipation as Draco slowly circles Harry's hole with his tongue, caressing it slowly with a few long, slow licks.  
  
'God. Oh, my God, Draco.'  
  
Draco lifts his head, mouth slick with lube. 'This lube tastes like cherry,' he says, licking his lips.  
  
Harry looks at him, incredulous. 'Yes, yes. It's a Muggle thing. Go back to what you were doing.'  
  
Draco smacks his leg and then bites Harry's inner thigh. 'Don't be hasty.'  
  
He lowers his mouth onto Harry's hole and this time he's merciless with his tongue, teasing and licking with lightning-quick movements, making Harry's thighs tremble and his cock leak onto his stomach.  
  
Harry threads his hands into Draco's hair, arching his back and shaking with each move Draco's tongue makes into his body.  
  
Draco pulls away again, slipping two fingers easily inside, curling his fingers and stroking Harry's prostate relentlessly. Harry moans and bucks beneath him, sweat rolling down his brow.  
  
'Draco,' he manages in breathy, barely coherent voice. 'In me. Now.' Draco catches his eye and Harry nods. 'It's okay,' he says. 'Do it.'  
  
Draco crawls up the length of Harry's body, lines up his leaking cock with Harry's hole, and slowly pushes in. Harry groans, throwing his head back and gripping Draco's forearms. He spreads his thighs wider, and Draco hooks them over his shoulder, taking a moment to kiss the insides of Harry's ankles.  
  
Then he leans forward, almost bending Harry in half, and Harry almost whimpers at the sweetness of it. He closes his eyes, losing himself in the feel of Draco's balls against his arse. How deep Draco is inside of him. Draco shudders and Harry's eyes fly open. Draco's eyes are tightly closed. Sweat beads on up upper lips, his arms tremble slightly and Draco bites his lower lip, straining for control.  
  
'Let go, Draco,' Harry's says. He lifts his hand to either side of Draco's face, threading his fingers into Draco's hair and pulling hard. Draco grunts loudly.  
  
'Fuck me, properly, you git.'  
  
Draco shudders and starts to move, and Harry grips his hair harder. Draco pushes Harry's legs off of his shoulders and leans in, kissing him hard on the mouth. Their teeth clash. Draco bites Harry's lip hard, all the while thrusting his hips, fucking Harry with long, deep strokes.  
  
'Fuck,' Harry pants. 'Fuck. Draco.'  
  
Draco lowers his mouth to Harry's neck, licking the side of Harry's Adams apple and biting Harry hard under his jaw.  
  
'Aw, fuck. You animal. Oh, yeah.'  
  
Draco laughs and sucks the skin at Harry's pulse.  
  
'Oh fuck.' Harry reaches between them, stoking his cock. Draco lifts himself up, bracing himself on his palms, his pace fast and unsteady.  
  
With a low groan, he comes hard inside Harry's arse, his body shuddering, his cock twitching inside Harry's body. Harry arches his back, rapidly stroking his cock, as Draco rides out the last few spurts of his orgasm.  
  
Without warning, his own orgasm hits him hard, tensing all the muscles in his body and sending him on endless waves of pleasure. Draco groans as Harry's arse clenches around his cock and he leans forward, kissing Harry again and stroking his hair off of his sweat-slicked forehead.  
  
'All right?' he says.  
  
Harry nods, too spent to speak. Draco gently rolls off of him and lies down face flat on the bed. He mumbles something into the pillow and Harry laughs weakly, turning to face him.  
  
'What?'  
  
Draco turns his head, and opens one eye. 'I said, I think I'm dead.'  
  
Harry smiles, closing his eyes and letting sleep wash over him as well.

 

 

:::

  
  
It's still dark when Harry wakes, and the bed beside him is empty. He rolls over, stomach uneasy, and pulls on his glasses.  
  
He slips out of bed and summons a pair of sweatpants from his chest of drawers. He grabs his wand from the nightstand and whispers, 'Lumos.'  
  
He walks out onto the landing, tiptoeing through the house like a night prowler. The door to his guest room is wide open, but Hermione's nowhere in sight. He walks down the stairs and spots Draco sitting at the piano bench, wearing his glasses and fingering the sheet music on the stand.  
  
Harry's seen him with his glasses so infrequently, it always startles him when he does. He looks older, more refined. His grey eyes shine a little brighter behind the black frames. He looks up as Harry comes down the stairs and walks across the living room.  
  
'Did I wake you?'  
  
Harry shakes his head and sits next to Draco on the piano bench. 'Where's Hermione?' he asks.  
  
Draco's mouth quirks. 'She left us a note about the proper use of silencing charms,' he says. 'I think she was too embarrassed to stay.'  
  
Harry snickers and makes a mental note to apologise tomorrow. Then, for the first time in weeks, he feels a genuine hunger pang coming on.  
  
'Are you going to play our song?' Harry says, smiling and resting his head on Draco's shoulder.  
  
'If you ask nicely.'  
  
'Please, Draco.'  
  
Draco kisses his forehead lightly, opens the sheet music to the piece titled  _Dawn_  and begins to play.  
  
Harry closes his eyes and loses himself in the music. Perhaps when Draco is finished, they'll have some tea and scones, and then maybe Harry can find the courage to tell Draco everything.  
  
Maybe.  
  
He likes to hope.


End file.
